The Spider and the Fly
by Nan
Summary: A speculation fic from the season ender
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Spider and the Fly  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web  
  
She hadn't slept in over 36 hours. She had eaten nothing but a few scraps of bread. This, combined with the events of the last couple of days triggered a sense of detachment, like she was watching some sort of extreme adventure movie. She was intensely aware of every bit of sensory information. The air was thick and musty with an odor of rotting vegetation. The forest was eerily quiet, like it was waiting. Waiting for what? Just seconds earlier the sound of contorting metal and broken branches split through the normally noisy biosphere of birdcalls, insects and small animals.   
  
The sense of detachment continued and Mac's mind started to wander. Like she had reached a tedious break in the action and the movie was failing to maintain her attention. She tried to think. What was she doing in this jungle? All she could remember was that room at Saddiq's compound. It was the room with the white-capped man and his car battery, cables and steel wool. Screaming filled her mind. As she looked down, she saw Clay spread-eagled on a crude wooden table. His face was bloodied and his clothes torn.   
  
Suddenly she was standing outside in the middle of the dusty compound. Mrs. Robinson was screaming at her. "Americans! This is your entire fault. They learned hatred from you!"  
  
Mac tried to explain. The hatred was always there. Don't you see? Poverty, oppression, discrimination - they all breed hatred. We have been caught in a conflict that is centuries old. But she couldn't speak. She tried to open her mouth but all that came out was a scream. She watched as Saddiq put a gun to the base of the missionary's skull and pulled the trigger.  
  
The screaming continued. As she looked down, there was Clay lying at her feet. His bloodied lips were moving in an attempt to speak. He was imploring her with his eyes. What was he trying to tell her? She couldn't think about that now. All she wanted to do was to get out of here. Get out of this green hell.   
  
Think. Think. From her first encounter with Clayton Webb, she had always felt uneasy. He was part of 'The Company' and he carried an air of mystery. Even his appearance was like a character out of a James Bond movie. He acted covertly with hidden agendas. True intentions and agendas were always hidden or obscured. Any situation with Clay spun out of control. She felt uncertain and stupid, like she didn't know what was going to happen next. One thing that Mac hated was the feeling of no control.   
  
Paraguay was no different. At the restaurant, when Clay had said he was scared, she felt a chill run up her spine. Clay's ops never were smooth but he never, ever, admitted to a lack of control. Control was his world. He knew everything. Knowledge was power to him. But this time was different. All hell had broken loose.   
  
In the short span of this operation in Paraguay, Mac had been overwhelmed by brutality. By her own hands, she had killed men. Not a man but several. Gunny had been shot. She had watched helplessly as Saddiq had executed the missionaries. She had heard Clay cries of pain as they applied their twisted form of torture. Clay was a strong man. She knew what it would take to break him. And broken he was.   
  
She smiled grimly. Despite the physical torture, Clay only deviated once from his cover story. And that one time was when he slipped and called her Sarah. Her cover was Jane. Clay's loyalty and bravery for his country was as strong as anyone at JAG.   
  
JAG! JAG seemed so far away and so long ago. Would she ever get back there? While she could admire Clay's loyalty to her and his mission, she hated him for this situation she was in. He all but professed to love her. She felt outrage. You demonstrate your love for a person by putting them in this hellhole? No, her original assessment of Clay was correct. He would always make her feel uneasy and out of control. Clay was right; he needed her. Clay needed her to protect him. But she didn't need him.  
  
The screaming continued. She tried to close her ears to the piercing sound. Where was it coming from? All of a sudden, she was back in the small hut with the white-capped man. Instead of Clay strapped to the table, she saw herself lying there. The glowing ends of the metal rods and twisted wire glittered menacingly as they moved toward her. She was mesmerized by the hatred in his eyes.  
  
The white-capped man looked away suddenly. What was going on? She realized belatedly that there were gunshots in the compound. Rescue maybe? No, she thought dejectedly. Gunny was dead. Clay was incapacitated. No one from JAG knew where she was.   
  
"Mac? Mac, wake up." It was Harm. Harm! What was he doing in Paraguay? Suddenly, she felt better. She felt safe. She knew everything would be okay. Harm would know what to do. He always did. Somehow, he always managed to help her and to keep her out of danger. She smiled. He always watched for her six. There was only one example when Harm worried her. It was when he was flying. The rest of the time, he was a rock.   
  
Flying! The biplane. Dynamiting the stinger missiles in the transport truck. The rescue in the compound. It all came flooding back. They had taken small arms fire and the biplane was speeding towards to the thick forest, out of control. The grinding of metal and the breaking branches.  
  
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the jungle floor a couple of yards away from the mangled wreckage of the plane. She watched as brightly colored Macaws and parrots flew by. A blue colored large bird screamed as it lit on a branch. That was the screaming she had heard.  
  
Harm was crouched next to her watching her face intently. He smiled with relief as she turned to look at him. His face and arms were a mass of small cuts and bruises where branches had whipped by on their descent. His shirt was torn. But he was the best looking thing she had seen in days.  
  
"You okay?" he inquired gently.   
  
She struggled to sit up. So far, so good. She was as bruised and cut as he was but she didn't feel any broken bones. Her head was starting to clear.  
  
"I think so. You?" She looked at him.  
  
"I think so. I better be. I don't think we can call a medi-vac helicopter to get us out of this one."   
  
He looked at her again, studying her carefully. As she stood up, he looked down. She realized that her pregnancy suit was ripped with long gashes that exposed the inner stuffing.  
  
He looked back into her face and smiled again. "Worked like an air-bag. Told you that it might come in handy."  
  
"Maybe so," she said. "But I'm taking this off now." The whole deception is ending. "Turn around." With that, she walked gingerly towards a tree and started to strip down. The pregnancy suit carried several reminders of the last few days. She could see the gash where Saddiq sliced her with the knife. Clay's blood soaked through her blouse and seeped through to the foam rubber. She was consumed with an overwhelming desire to rid herself of awkward thing. She pulled at the inner elastic on her pregnancy jeans in an effort to tighten them.   
  
When she turned around, Harm was rummaging around the ruined wreckage of the biplane. He climbed down, his hands full.  
  
"Did I ever tell you, that I love the Germans? They are so organized and methodical," he said and opened his arms to show her what he had found. "This is an emergency kit with flares, matches, knife, wire, and a small first aid kit. Also, I found a canteen of water and a box lunch. He must have been preparing to go somewhere. Mennonites are great cooks. Are you hungry?"  
  
"Food that really schmecks," she said and tears came to her eyes. Harm's breezy optimism was a tonic.  
  
"Schmecks?" He was studying her carefully.  
  
"Yeah, a Mennonite cookbook Mom once had. It was called 'Food that really Schmecks'. Sour-cream salads, hingle potpie, shmierkase, schnitz, pickled baby corn. I loved to look at the pictures. All high calorie and guaranteed to increase your cholesterol by 50 points. I love it. But what are you going to eat?" she bantered slowly.   
  
Harm smiled at the quip. He knew she was on the edge. Maybe she was starting to collect herself. She had been through a lot. Hell, he had gone through a lot and he had only been here for a day. He could only imagine the misery the terrorists had put her and Clay through. He looked around. It was an hour or two till nightfall. And she looked exhausted.  
  
"Mac, you know Saddiq and his men better than I do. Do you think they will attempt to come after us?"  
  
Mac's eyes dimmed. She heaved a sigh and forced herself to dwell on the immediate threat.   
  
"Well, the jungle seems pretty thick and remote here. It would mean they would have to travel on foot or perhaps use a plane. I never saw a plane at any of the compounds. There are right-of-ways cut under the power lines that you may be able to use an off road vehicle. But I still think that traveling would be pretty slow. The terrain is hilly and rugged. And it will be dark soon."  
  
"That's what I am thinking too. I'm going to build a small fire. Let's rest for the night. I've been through hell today, " Harm said.  
  
Mac bristled at his words. He had been through hell? "Suck it up, Navy," she said. Then she smiled as she realized what he was doing. She rolled her eyes at him.  
  
Harm continued to chatter as he gathered wood and built a small fire. "You know it's almost winter in Paraguay. In some parts of the country, temperatures drop below zero in the month of July. I think it might be a bit chilly tonight."  
  
"We are in the jungle, Harm," she said.  
  
"Yeah, tropical bordering on temperate climate."  
  
"Let me guess, you spent the plane trip reading "The Lonely Planet."  
  
"Did you know hydroelectric power is a major export?" he said.  
  
"When are you to check in again with the Admiral?" she asked.  
  
"I have no official schedule to check in with him," Harm said and he bent over to blow gently on the small fire.   
  
"Whom are you supposed to check in with?" she asked puzzled.  
  
"Technically, I'm only here as a tourist."  
  
"No one knows you are here?" She was puzzled.  
  
"I wouldn't say that. The admiral knows where I am. It's just that I quit the Navy and he has no jurisdiction or responsibility over my actions."  
  
She looked at him gapped mouthed. "Say that again?"  
  
"I quit the Navy. I resigned my commission. This clandestine CIA op of Clay's meant that the admiral had no authority. He ordered me not to come. And maybe the Marine credo is to never leave a man behind but that's not how the CIA thinks. Everything they do is covert and based on deniability. The admiral thought there would be a ransom request or a claim of responsibility. After meeting the CIA Chief of Station here, I can understand why he was lead to think that. He denied my request for emergency leave. Trying to protect me, I guess. He gave me no other option than to quit. So I did."  
  
"Oh, Harm, I never wanted you to quit the Navy." and her eyes filled with tears. She was so close to the edge and so tired. This was news she didn't want to hear.  
  
He walked over and sat down beside her. "You have been held captive by terrorists for a couple of days, tortured and we crashed in a biplane. And you are worried about me quitting the Navy? Mac, after seeing you strapped to that table, all I could think of was what took me so long."  
  
"I'm sorry, Harm," said Mac.  
  
Nothing he did would comfort her. The tears had already started. She put her face in her hands and cried for Harm. She cried for Clay. She cried for Gunny. She cried for the missionaries. She cried for the families of the men she had killed. She cried for the futility of the entire mission. Harm put his arms around her and she was crying against his torn shirt. She wept until she was spent. She clung to Harm as a lifeline.  
  
She must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, what little she could see of the sky through the trees was dark and studded with dim stars. Her head was pillowed against Harm's thigh. He was leaning against a fallen log and staring into a small flickering fire. She groaned as she tried to sit up. Every muscle in her body ached.   
  
"Okay?" he inquired.  
  
"Yeah," she said as she looked around. Her eyes settled back on Harm's face. "I'm sorry I am such a mess."  
  
"S'okay. Stress needs to relieve itself somehow."  
  
She moved to sit next to him. "That sounds familiar. You told me that the last time we were stuck in the woods with deranged people after us."  
  
"Yeah, remember that? This feels a lot like that time," he said. "By the way, you were shot in the leg not stabbed."  
  
"Whaaat?"  
  
"Well, when we getting into the biplane, you told me the last time you did this you were stabbed in the leg. You were shot in the leg with buckshot from the poacher's shotgun, remember?"  
  
"How could I forget? Did I say I was stabbed? Must have been distracted at the time. I was thinking about the poacher trying to stab me with his knife and getting shot at the same time. I guess it was two sentences that got jammed into one."  
  
"When I left you for while, you were hidden but the brother of what's-his-name snuck up on you and tried to uhhh, attack you. You stabbed him, not the other way around." Harm grimaced.  
  
"It was one of the scariest experiences in my life. Up till now," she said.  
  
"You hungry?" said Harm. He went over to the knapsack with the bag lunch.  
  
"Starving," she said.   
  
He handed her the canteen of water. "Drink something. There is also a thermos of tea in the lunch sac."  
  
He handed her a sandwich of thickly sliced homemade bread, sauerkraut and slice meat. She bit into it hungrily. "I feel kind of guilty enjoying this poor man's lunch after we crashed his plane."  
  
"Eat now, feel guilty later. I bet you haven't eaten for a couple of days." asked Harm.  
  
"We had a few bites of stale bread at the compound." She looked over to the wrecked biplane. "I can't believe we survived that crash."  
  
Harm grunted wordlessly. He stretched out his long legs in front of him and leaned against the fallen tree stump. "Sorry about all of this. I know it always seems to happen that way."  
  
"Why is that? What has it been - five, no six crashes? Three with me. That I know for sure."  
  
"Only two with you. The Mig in Russia and this one now. The one with the poachers doesn't qualify as a crash. I mean we managed to take off again in the same plane. It was just an emergency landing due to a faulty gas line." Harm defended himself.  
  
"Subtle differences. My heart was racing nevertheless." She stretched out beside him, leaning against the same fallen log.  
  
"You know, despite everything, we managed to accomplish something. I think those stingers were destroyed in that explosion," said Harm.  
  
"You did good, flyboy." Mac smiled at him.  
  
"Yeah, now the only thing left to do is figure out how to get the hell out of Paraguay."  
  
"What about Gunny and Webb?" The thought of running the gauntlet again inside this violent country made her sick.  
  
"We won't leave them behind, Marine," he said. "I hope they made it to a hospital. And I hope that Gunny was smart enough not to go to that CIA chief of station guy."  
  
"You think he is the leak?" Mac turned to look at him.  
  
"Even if he isn't, he is one of the most self-serving, lily-livered bastards I have ever met. Even the CIA isn't that cold-hearted. Gunny will get further without him. And Clay needs real help." Harm was grim.  
  
"You know, none of this would have ever happened if Clay hadn't been sent here after the Angel Shark investigation," said Mac.  
  
"Are you trying to tell me that this is all my fault? Cause I talked Clay into revealing what happened to the Angel Shark?" Harm was incredulous.  
  
"Well, think about it. Clay would still be in Washington. Paraguay would just be another country on a map."  
  
"I am not going there. I am not, in no way, responsible for this fiasco," said Harm.  
  
Mac smiled. "Damn. I must be losing my touch. Getting Harmon Rabb to feel guilty used to be so easy."  
  
"Speaking of guilt Mac, I have one for you. I had to get married last week just for you."  
  
"Now that sounds bizarre. I don't believe there is a woman on this planet that could get you to say 'I do.' And if you married another woman just for me, I'm really feeling flattered. I mean quitting the Navy is one thing. But this really shows real dedication, " Mac rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion.  
  
"Believe it. Ask Bud. He presided over the marriage ceremony." Harm was smiling broadly. Mac smiled back. Her heart lifted. Despite his grimy exterior and their current situation, all seemed right with the world when he smiled.  
  
"And under what authority did Bud perform this ceremony? The Holy Church of JAG Lawyers? Who did you marry anyway?" Mac was curious.  
  
"Catherine Gayle."  
  
"The CIA lady lawyer? What? She looks like a career single to me. This story is getting more unbelievable by the moment," said Mac. She grabbed a stick and poked at the fire.  
  
"You know that little annoying sentence that the CIA uses? The one that goes 'Need to know basis only' or 'you don't have security clearance to know that'. Well, I hit that wall more than once trying to discover your whereabouts. Anyways, I went to Catherine in a vain attempt to talk to her about you. Then she gets an emergency call about her dying mother. Next thing you know I'm at the hospital with her. Her mom assumes I'm her fiancé. This fiancé is someone Catherine fabricated to please her sick mother. Well, next thing you know, it is her dying mother's wish to see her daughter married. To me. That's how it all started." Harm leaned back and stared up at the stars.  
  
"And you felt sorry for the dying mother so you agreed to a made-up wedding. Bud played preacher. Catherine is indebted to you. Then you knew where to find us." Mac filled in the rest of the details.  
  
"Yeah that's essentially it. For all of that, I didn't get many details. They helped to get me in touch with the CIA down here. Which was basically useless. But there was one stroke of good luck. Gunny was watching the CIA office and he contacted me. We went from there."  
  
"Gunny ! You can't imagine how I felt when I saw Gunny today. When I thought he had been killed, I felt like everything had been in vain. That I was responsible for Clay and all that he went through. I had been the one who went back to get Gunny. Clay just followed." Mac's shoulder's drooped. Harm watched as she aimlessly threw bits of leaves into the fire.  
  
Harm thought about his next question. He knew that its answer would drag her through memories best forgotten. But he had to know. He had to know what happened to Clay and Mac. Most important of all - what happened between Clay and Mac. Harm closed his eyes briefly and thought about the kiss he had witnessed earlier. The last time he had felt this sense of panic, Mic Brumby was engaged to Mac. But this was worse. Harm had always seen Mic as the hapless Australian who was never quite good enough for Mac. But Harm counted Clay as a close friend. He knew the man was smart and capable. And dangerous. Mac around this man and his perilous profession would only drive him crazy. From the moment he had witnessed that kiss, he knew that his relationship with Clayton Webb had changed. Webb was now a rival. Had his relationship with Mac changed too?   
  
Who I am kidding? Even Admiral Chegwidden knew it. Why are you risking your life to save Mac when you won't risk your heart to be with her? There was no relationship with Mac outside of friendship. Harm was too timid to cross the boundary between friendship and love.   
  
He started. "Mac, I shouldn't ask you this but what happened in the compound? What did they do to Clay? I saw the two missionaries executed. You were being escorted to that hut.... Why were they taking you there?"  
  
Mac hunched forward and hugged her knees. She stared at the flickering flames. She swallowed hard. "Clay had been posing as an arms dealer with a pregnant wife. I think he made up the pregnant part of the story in an effort to protect me. He rationalized that their traditional values would mean that they wouldn't hurt a pregnant woman. But Carla Robinson, the missionary's wife had figured out that I was a fake. She was desperate to please Saddiq. She knew that their church would be unable to pay the ransom. Saddiq was brutal and they knew he would kill them. She used the information about my false pregnancy in an effort to please him. It didn't work, of course. You saw that in the compound."  
  
"What Saddiq couldn't figure out was who Clay and I really were. He saw us as Israelis. He couldn't see why we tried to rescue Gunny. That made no sense to him. And truly, it was hard to explain away. You saw that torture chamber? Well, Clay spent the better part of a day having the electrodes attached to that battery applied to him. They broke him, Harm. I could hear his screams across the compound. He took punishment intended for me. But he never wavered from his story about being an independent arms dealer. They were going to do the same to me, in an effort to get Clay to talk."  
  
"I am okay right now because Clay delayed them from getting to me and because you and Gunny rescued us." Mac's eyes were closed. She could still seeing the glowing electrodes.  
  
Harm to himself silently went on. And if I ever have regrets about my decision to quit the Navy, I will remember how you looked strapped to that table and I will know I did the right thing. No matter what happens between you and Clay. He felt his chest tighten.  
  
Mac whispered. "I wonder if Clay is still alive."  
  
"Yeah, me too," said Harm. He stood up and looked around. Mac needed sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough. How possibly could he make her more comfortable? He spied the discarded pregnancy suit. At least she could have a pillow.   
  
"Here," he said. "Something for your head. We should both get some sleep." He stoked the fire with a few pieces of deadfall.   
  
Mac curled up with the pregnancy suit. She watched as Harm cleaned up the remnants of their bag lunch. He lay down on the ground a few feet away from her, his expression unreadable.  
  
But Mac was still pretty perceptive, despite her exhaustion. After all, he had been her partner, on and off for almost seven years. She didn't need to read his expression to know what he was thinking.   
  
"Harm?" she said.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You want me to call room service and ask them to bring up a room divider?"  
  
Harm turned to look at her. She was smiling.  
  
Mac continued, "We could share body heat. It is almost winter you know. Some parts of this country go below freezing in July. Somebody said that it's better than sleeping with the scorpions."  
  
Harm stared for moment. "There are no scorpions in Paraguay. Anacondas and Boa Constrictors, maybe. But no scorpions."   
  
Before she could answer, he crept over to her. He laid his head on the edge of the tattered pregnancy suit and turned his face to look into hers. He swung his long leg over hers as he wrapped his arms around her. He sighed contently as he closed his eyes.   
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, praying silently.  
  
"I'm sure," she said. And she snuggled up against his broad chest. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Spider and the Fly II  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web  
  
  
  
Harm was in that twilight zone between sleep and full awareness. He was awake enough to realize that the dim forest was brighter. It was moments before dawn. He was lying on the forest floor spooned tightly with Mac. His face was buried in her reddish brown hair with one arm around her waist and the other across her chest. She smelled of sweat and dirt but he found the earthy, musky scent intoxicating.   
  
Don't move a muscle, he told himself. Despite the obvious pleasures of his present position, the lumpy spot on the unrelenting earth was not comfortable. And he knew the moment he moved, every stiff muscle, bruise and bump on his battered body would complain.   
  
So he willed himself not to move. His mind wandered to Admiral Chegwidden. Hey, AJ or what ever the hell I'm supposed to call you now, see me here with Mac? Bet you never thought I'd be lying on the ground holding Mac, now did you? Not Mic. Not Dalton. Not even Webb. But me.  
  
The Admiral in his mind answered back. Yah, Harm, I see you. But I also know you. What did she say last night? She just said 'I'm sure.' What the hell did that mean? It will bother you all day. You will wonder if she was sure that she wanted you. Or was she just sure she wanted you for the one night. Kind of like that kiss she gave Webb. A thank you for rescuing her yesterday. Maybe that is all she meant.   
  
Admiral Chegwidden went on. You don't know how to keep her. You don't even know how to talk to her.  
  
His mind continued to wander. He was standing at The Wall. Soft flakes of snow were falling gently through the cold night air. Harm could hear Christmas carols dimly in the background. He was staring a card in his hand. It was a Christmas card that had been jammed in a crack in black marble near his father's name. On the outside were the words  
  
'To Harmon Rabb Sr.'  
  
He opened the card slowly and read   
  
'The father I never knew.'  
  
Automatically, he lifted his eyes. Standing in front of his was Sergei and Clayton Webb. "Thanks, Webb," was all he managed to mumble as emotions threatened to overtake him.   
  
Webb! Admiral Chegwidden! Harm's eyes popped open. I need to get to civilization. I need to let them know what is going on.  
  
Harm had not been entirely truthful to Mac yesterday. Well, he had been truthful but her exhaustion and crying spell meant that he never told her the entire story of Admiral Chegwidden.  
  
It was true that Chegwidden had accepted his resignation an hour after his reckless decision. But Mac didn't know that when he went back to the Admiral's office, there was a visitor waiting for him. Retired Rear Admiral Thomas Boone sat in the leather chair beside the fireplace. Harm shook his hand briefly, bristling at the implications of Boone's visit.   
  
It was obvious that they were trying to talk some sense into Harm. But neither man was surprised when this second assault on the illogic of Harm's resignation failed. Boone walked Harm to his office and helped carry his personal belongings to his corvette.  
  
"Harm," said Boone. "I want to buy you drink." And he gestured to Benzinger's Bar down the road.  
  
Harm shook his head. "I don't have time."  
  
"Make time for this one." Without waiting for an answer, Boone opened the passenger door and sat down.  
  
At Benzinger's, Boone wasted no words. In his terse and short way of talking, he outlined a plan to provide Harm some backup. They discussed a regular call-in schedule and a list of code words to keep idle listeners from guessing Harm's true purpose. Boone made Harm talk through possible scenarios and listened to proposed solutions. He also promised Harm that he would work some old contacts.   
  
As they parted, Harm asked. "What are you going to do if I don't make a scheduled report?"  
  
Boone pursed his lips. "Don't know. But I'm having drinks with Chegwidden tonight. Who knows, maybe that question will come up."  
  
"The Navy JAG can't involve himself with an unofficial operation of the CIA," said Harm.  
  
"He won't. But you can never tell what twists a story like this will take. Maybe there will be a time when the Navy JAG should step in. But we will keep it quiet until then. Be safe, Harm. Bring her home."  
  
Harm's eyes went bright. "Thanks, Tom."  
  
After Harm had met Gunny in Ciudad del Este, he phoned Boone. Using oblique phrases, he hoped that Boone had gotten the gist of where he was going and what he was doing. Boone expected to hear from him last night.  
  
Mac stirred in Harms arms. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold and watched as she turned her face towards him. She smiled sleepily.  
  
"No cappuccino in bed this time either?" she asked referring once again to the adventure long ago with the poachers.  
  
"We never drank the thermos of tea last night," said Harm. He rolled to one side and sat up. He flexed his shoulder and winced. Ow, that hurt. He felt around his back with his hand until he came to the fleshy part under his arm towards his back. It was warm and swollen. He glanced over to Mac. She was studying him.  
  
Without saying a word, she kneeled behind him. She stripped his shirt and studied the wound. There was an eight-inch splinter of metal embedded deep in his muscle. There wasn't much blood but the area had an angry bruised look to it. She knew it was already showing signs of infection.   
  
"Does it hurt?" she asked.  
  
"Not much, just a dull throb," he answered.  
  
"It needs to come out."  
  
"Not by you," he said. He grabbed his shirt and gingerly pulled it back on. "I'm okay."  
  
"Not for long, if it doesn't come out," she said.  
  
"It's okay. How are you feeling this morning?"  
  
"Sore and bruised. But okay."  
  
They ate the rest of Mennonite farmer's lunch in silence. Harm sorted through the items in emergency kit. He grabbed the flare gun, knife, matches and small roll of Tylenol. He slung the canteen of water over his uninjured shoulder.  
  
"There is no one here to see a flare," said Mac.  
  
"That's not the only way to use a flare gun. As I recall, you used it pretty effectively last time," Harm said.   
  
Mac remembered the poachers. Unarmed, she had pointed the flare gun directly at the attacking man. The flare embedded in his chest. She had gunned him down as efficiently as with a shotgun.  
  
"Got any theories on which way we should head?" said Mac.  
  
"The easiest walking will be down one of the powerline right-of-ways we saw. I was attempting to aim for one as we descended. Overshot it and landed in the forest on the other side. So let's go that way." Harm pointed to the crude path of stripped trees the biplane had created.  
  
Within 20 minutes they were standing on the edge of the right-of-way. Mac looked up and down. "Makes sense that we should descend this hill. Maybe there will be a village or road in the valley."  
  
"Lead on," he said.  
  
They walked for three hours. Deadfall and tree stumps meant for a slow pace. Mac attempted to get her numbed mind to work. She willed herself to stop the endless loop of images from the last three days. It would take a lifetime of nightmares to forget this experience. Summoning all of her Marine discipline, she forced herself to think about the present.   
  
She silently listed the features of this particular situation. A road, a farm or any remnant of civilization had so far eluded them. No sign of the terrorists so far. For that matter, no sign of anyone so far. The canteen of water from the Mennonite farmer was almost empty. Harm needed medical help or possibly surgery on a large metallic splinter impaled in his teres major muscle on his back. Did she miss anything?  
  
Once they hit a road, which direction should they head? They had told the Mennonite farmer that they were flying to a hospital in Pozo Grande. Did Gunny and Webb end up in Pozo Grande? If Gunny had enough time, he would head to Asunción. Health facilities in this country were generally poor except in the capital.   
  
She wanted to avoid Ciudad del Este and the CIA chief, Edward Hardy. She agreed with Harm's assessment. He was definitely a coward and likely a traitorous coward.   
  
The American Embassy in Asunción was their safest bet. She sighed. Once they hit a road, if they got a ride, they were at least 4 hours over dubious roads until the reached the embassy.   
  
They approached the top of a small ridge. Harm, a few yards ahead, stopped. Mac caught up with him and followed the direction of his gaze. In the valley below was the Rio Verde. The tall metal hydro towers over the bush-covered right-of-ways were leading to a large power plant/dam. Leading from the facility was a paved road. Parked at the deserted dam parking lot was a grey Chevy Astro van, similar to several owned by Saddiq Faud. Similar also to the van Harm had left with the Mennonite farmer. Was there someone waiting for them at the dam? Who was it?  
  
1 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Spider and the Fly III  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
Part III  
  
Harm grabbed Mac by the arm and pulled her to a crouch. "Any guesses?" he asked.  
  
Mac looked at him with a woeful expression. "Why would our Mennonite friend drive to a power plant on the Rio Verde? It seems logical to me that it must be Saddiq. And we are the reason he is here."  
  
"Maybe so," said Harm. "Let's be careful in any case. Over there." He pointed to forest edge. Walking in the open right-of-way would be dangerous.  
  
They hiked slowly down through the dense forest to a point west of the power lines, moving closer to the dam site. Harm picked a vantage point about 100 yards away and stopped. A tangle of vines and bushes hid them from view. They waited and watched.   
  
The dam and power plant ran without permanent staff. With the exception of the grey Astro van, the entire site looked deserted.   
  
After ten minutes, Harm looked at Mac. "It seems that no one is here."  
  
She agreed. "Where would they be?"  
  
"Looking for us?"  
  
Harm studied the van. "I'm sure that is the van I left with our German farmer. I recognize that crease in the front bumper."  
  
Mac squinted her eyes. "So why doesn't that make me feel better? Something is wrong here."   
  
"Good instinct. I don't trust this either. Go quietly behind that tan stucco building. I'll come around from the other side. I'll walk slowly across the parking lot towards the van. You cover me," said Harm and he reached inside his small pack. "Take the flare gun."  
  
Mac raised an eyebrow. Something about this spooked Harm. She looked at the flare gun in her hand. "This doesn't give me a lot of confidence."   
  
Cautiously, they made their way towards the deserted parking lot with the solitary van.  
  
Mac rounded the squat building. Harm emerged slowly from the far side. His gaze swung around. She scanned nearby buildings and edge of the noisy Paraguayan forest. Harm closed the remaining yards between himself and the vehicle. Suddenly, she heard revving of a truck motor and wheels spinning. She looked beyond the van to the crudely paved road. A half-ton pickup truck was speeding towards them. A dark man leaned out of an open window and pointed an automatic rifle towards the van and Harm.   
  
Harm duck and moved, keeping the grey van between him and the oncoming truck. A spray of bullets pinged angrily off the pavement and metal as the man open fire. Mac drew the short squat flare gun from her waist. This only worked at short range. She needed to get closer to her target.  
  
Target? Indecision hit her. How best could she maximize her two flares?   
  
The pickup truck came to halt making a T with the van. Both the driver and passenger were leaning out open doors, automatic weapons in hand. Harm was crouched out of view on the other side. The two attackers were unaware of her presence. Keeping low, Mac walked slowly toward the rear of the truck. The open bed of the pickup truck was partially filled with an assortment of power tools. Mac spied two red plastic 5-gallon containers of gasoline. Bingo. That was her target.   
  
At a range of five yards she pointed the flare gun towards the red containers and fired. She quickly turned, sprinted then dove to the ground as the gasoline ignited. A series of explosions followed from the larger gas tank on the truck. Fire and explosions engulfed the truck and then the van. Mac lay face down on the parking lot pavement, covering her head with her hands as debris fell everywhere.   
  
Cautiously, she raised her head and shoulders from the ground and turned to look at the aftermath. She counted one then two bodies next to the burning wreckage of the truck. She looked around for Harm.  
  
He was lying on the other side of the van face up and legs moving slightly. He was alive! She quickened her pace till she was standing over him. He opened one eye to look up at her.  
  
"Did you do that? Next time, give me a little warning and I will get out of the way," he moaned.   
  
"How would that go exactly? Excuse me, Mr. Terrorist? Wait right there while I warn the squid on the other side of the van?" Mac knelt beside him. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm great. Just don't ask me to move." Harm drew one leg up towards his body. He winced and closed his eyes.  
  
Mac looked down his long body. He had cuts and scraps on top of more cuts and bruises. "Tell me where it hurts."  
  
Harm slowly moved his other leg and threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. "Where does it hurt? A better question might be, where doesn't it hurt?" He rolled over on one shoulder and propped himself into a sitting position. He held his right arm tightly against his body. The ugly splinter wound on his right shoulder had been crudely torn open and abraded with dirt and pebbles. Blood was seeping through his thin shirt.   
  
"What's wrong?" Harm asked Mac. She was kneeling close behind him, inspecting the wound.  
  
"That splinter wound is bleeding badly. The impact must have jarred it," said Mac.  
  
"It hurts like hell."  
  
"I bet. Anything else hurting?" She peered around him to look up into his face.   
  
"Isn't that enough?" he groused.   
  
"What, you think I like to see you suffer?" Mac smiled. She stood up and held a hand out to help him to a standing position.  
  
"Sometimes you do," he said trying to stand on legs that felt like jell-o. Mac reached around his waist to steady him.  
  
"I never want to see you suffer."  
  
"Never? What about during the friendly fire case?"  
  
"Well okay, maybe once. Extenuating circumstances," she said. She led him back towards the edge of the Paraguayan forest, snagging the discarded pack from the biplane on the way.  
  
"How about the war games trial against General West? Aaaaah," said Harm as he tried to straighten the injured shoulder.  
  
"Twice then," said Mac.  
  
"Jagathon?" asked Harm.  
  
"Just a minute, you were hell bent to show that you could beat me even with a head start. You deserved to suffer." She felt her anger rising.  
  
"After the ferry in Australia?" Harm continued relentlessly.  
  
She dropped her supporting arm and stared at him. He could be such an ass at times. He eased himself down on the pampas grass next to the pavement. She turned her back to him and rummaged around the pack looking for the small first aid kit. There was guaze, tape, and antiseptic pads. She also grabbed the hunting knife.  
  
"What are you going to do with that?" asked Harm, noticing the knife in her hand.  
  
Her eyes glittered at him and she smiled. He paled as she placed herself directly behind him and stripped his ruined shirt.  
  
He closed his eyes as she started to clean the ragged wound with an antiseptic pad. She could feel his back straighten and his muscles tense as she gently picked at pieces of debris and gravel. She peered at the rough metal splinter. The wound was hot with veins of puffy reddish blue bruising radiating from it. The splinter was deep but if she could get a good grip, she felt she could drag it out cleanly.   
  
"Lie down," she told him.  
  
Harm glanced back at her with something like fear in his eyes. He straightened his legs and rolled onto his front. He buried his face in his crossed arms and shut his eyes.  
  
Using another antiseptic pad, she swiped the blade of the knife. With the crude blade she made a one-inch shallow cut to expose the end of the splinter. She heard him suck in his breath. Using her finger and what was left of her nails, she grabbed at the splinter. She couldn't get a good grip. She picked up the knife and widened the cut. Pulling gently she managed to extract long piece metal. It was a remnant of the strut of the biplane.   
  
Quickly she washed down the wound and taped a gauze pad over it. She placed her hand over the gauze hoping the additional pressure would stop the bleeding. She bent over him until she was next to his face.  
  
"Harm?" He didn't answer. Had he fainted? She wasn't sure. Mac got up and went over to the pack. Extracting the empty canteen, she walked over to edge of the large holding pond above the dam.   
  
When she returned, he was still lying in the face down position. She checked the wound again. Blood was already seeping onto the outer layers of the gauze pad. She grabbed the last gauze pad and taped it on top of the wound.   
  
He stirred and said in a strained voice, "Are you finished yet?"  
  
She bent over him, bringing her face to the same level as his. She looked into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like I am about to throw up," he said.   
  
"The splinter is out," she said.  
  
"God, I hope so, that hurt like hell," he mumbled.   
  
"Sorry. I have some water here. Would you like some?"  
  
"In a little while," and he closed his eyes again. She laid her hand onto the uninjured side of his back and rubbed soothingly.   
  
She sat staring out onto the deserted parking lot with its burned out vehicles. All was quiet again. As Harm slept, she mentally planned out their next move.   
  
  
  
2 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Spider and the Fly IV  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
  
  
Part IV  
  
Harm watched Mac from his vantage point at the edge of the power plant parking lot. He was in a seated position hunched over his bent legs. She was rounding one of the small out buildings in the facility, checking the doors and windows. So far, everything was locked.   
  
He was still feeling pretty shaky. Okay, Mac was probably right. That thick shard of metal had to come out but he couldn't shake the feeling of weakness Mac's foray with the knife had left him with. His shoulder ached like crazy right now. Mac was scouting the dam site seeking solutions to their current situation. In this condition, he wasn't much use to her.   
  
He scanned the assortment of buildings, holding pond and riverbanks. From what he could see, they were completely alone. The van had been a trap. Harm recognized the van as the one he had left with the Mennonite farmer. Had he betrayed them to Saddiq Faud? Whether he did or not, Harm knew it wouldn't be long until some else came looking for them.  
  
He watched as Mac walked over to another small shed and shielded her eyes to peer inside a dusty window. He tried to gauge her mood. Was she mad at him? What form of idiocy had over taken him earlier? What possessed him to list their recent fights in such a persistent fashion? And bringing up the ferry ride in Sydney Harbor was just this side of spite. No wonder she went at him with a knife. He was probably lucky that all she did was take out the metal splinter.  
  
It was probably just a momentary lapse caused by the concussion from the blast and the pain in his shoulder, right?  
  
In lawyer-like fashion, his logical mind knew that was a weak argument. The real reason, if he cared to admit it, was something he was ashamed of. If Admiral Chegwidden was here, he could tell Harm the real reason. Harm, the admiral would say, you can't admit that you need her.   
  
Webb had admitted that he needed Mac. Harm had heard it for himself, eavesdropping as he fixed the tire on the jeep back at Saddiq's compound. Webb, half dead and crazy with pain, told Mac words that Harm wanted to say but never could.  
  
Mac had finished her inspection of the outbuildings and walked back to his location at the edge of the large parking lot. Flopping down beside him, she stretched out her legs and leaned back.  
  
"You are looking better," she said.  
  
"Yes," he said keeping his eyes forward. "Thank you for all you did. It must have been a hard thing to do."  
  
She turned to look at him not quite knowing what to say to the formal tone of that sentence of gratitude. Harm had resigned his commission, flown thousands of miles, battled gun-toting terrorists and all he could say to her was 'thank you for all you did?'   
  
He was too funny. She started to giggle.  
  
He stared at her. This wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Was she laughing at him?  
  
"What's so funny?" he finally asked.  
  
"You," she said.  
  
"What did I say?" Harm mildly annoyed.  
  
"You resign your commission to come here. Harmon Rabb, a man who loves the Navy and flying Tomcats above everything else. Here we are, in the middle of god knows where Paraguay in a truly desperate situation and the best you can say to me is 'thank you for all you did?'"  
  
Harm was silent but her laughter was infectious. He fought back a smile. "What did you expect? Some sappy line about sharing a tooth brush?"  
  
"You heard that?"  
  
"It was hard not to. Anyways, Webb has a lot of gall, dragging you into this dangerous situation and then claiming to love you," Harm said with more heat than he intended.  
  
"He never said that he loved me. He just said he needed me," said Mac.  
  
"You know what he meant."  
  
"Are you worried about that?" asked Mac.  
  
"Worried about what?"  
  
"Worried about Clay's er, confession?"  
  
Harm suddenly turned to face her, ignoring the pain in his shoulder from the sudden motion. He reached out and grabbed both of her hands and held them firmly in his. He answered slowly. "What if I am?"  
  
Her eyes flashed as she stared intently at his face realizing that he had taken them both back to that ill-fated conversation on the Guadalcanal. It had been over a year and a half ago when he had answered her question 'What would you do' with another question. "What if I did?" Frustrated with his vague answer, she hadn't stuck around to finish the dialogue. Instead she had run. It had been months before they recovered their friendship from that unfortunate discussion.  
  
This time, Mac had no room for escape. Harm held each hand firmly with a sense of purpose that even her marine training would find difficult to overcome.  
  
She could do nothing but answer truthfully, "Well then, if you are worried about Clay then I guess I would be happy to know that maybe you cared."   
  
"Maybe I cared?" quirking one eyebrow at her.  
  
"I guess 'maybe' is the wrong word."  
  
"Definitely the wrong word," said Harm.  
  
"But," Mac continued openly. "I would wonder why you couldn't say those words yourself."  
  
Harm averted his eyes and released her hands. "Maybe I would wonder about a few things to. Like, do you had the same feelings for Clay that he has for you, especially after you have been through so much together?" His heart was pounding in his brain for some reason.   
  
When he looked up again, she was starting to rise and looking at a point down the road. Following her gaze, he realized that a late model grey suburban towing a trailer was driving toward the dam site.  
  
"Can you walk?" she asked. "We need to hide." She bent down and picked up the remnants of the first aid kit and canteen and shoved them into the pack.  
  
Harm nodded and put on his shirt despite the sudden jab of pain. He rose slowly, testing the strength in his legs. He looked at her to confirm he was okay.  
  
"This way," she said and walked through the thick forest around the parking lot toward the river below the dam, her eyes never leaving the grey suburban. She found small rise thick with brush in sight of the parking lot directly above the banks of the Rio Verde. They both knelt down and hid themselves as they watched the Suburban come to a halt next to the burned out vehicles.  
  
A white-capped armed man emerged from the vehicle first. He opened the passenger door and the distinctive figure of Saddiq Faud stepped out, arm in a sling. They circled the burned out vehicle. Mac tried to get a gist of their conversation. Two more armed men climbed out of the grey SUV.   
  
Saddiq motioned to the trailer. On the flatbed trailer was two off-road trikes. The men unloaded the pair. He sent the third man to check the buildings around the site. Harm and Mac watched as he painstakingly checked windows and doors. He was walking slowly with two hands gripping an automatic rifle, eyes scanning the hills next to the installation. He started to walk down the edge of the parking lot. Suddenly he stopped. He motioned to Saddiq and the others to join him.  
  
Harm glanced at Mac. They had found the spot where Mac had performed the crude surgery on Harm's shoulder. If they had found that, he knew it wasn't safe for them here.  
  
"Any ideas?" he asked Mac.  
  
"Actually I do have an idea. Look down there," she said pointing towards the river. Harm saw a tiny scrap of yellow through the thick brush. What was it? Suddenly, he realized he was looking at a Zodiac style river raft hidden by the bank of the river directly beneath them.   
  
Harm mused over who had left it there. Perhaps it was part of the installation of the dam site? Or maybe left by some ecotourism company who had rafting tours on the Rio Verde? Whatever, it would be a slick and fast form of transportation.   
  
But only after Saddiq and his men had left. If they went on to the river now, they would be sitting ducks in a yellow raft for the automatic weapons in their hands. He let his eyes wander further down the valley. There was a gorge of sorts about a half-mile down. The hillside was inaccessible, steep and thickly covered. If they could only make it that far, they would be safe for a while.  
  
They had one additional advantage. The sun was hanging low in the sky. It was less than an hour to darkness.  
  
"You still have that knife?" said Harm. "If I can see the raft, so can they. We need to hide it better."  
  
Mac nodded. "I'll go down."  
  
"No," he said. "Stay here. To listen and figure out their next move. You speak Farsi, remember?"  
  
She looked at him carefully and nodded slowly. "You okay?"  
  
He smiled. "Adrenaline and fear. Keep you going every time."  
  
"Be safe," she whispered.  
  
"You too."  
  
1 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Spider and the Fly IV  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
  
  
Mac's legs ached from the low crouch. She had crept closer towards the four men standing in the parking lot. Vines, tall grasses and low brush hid her from view. She could hear snippets of their conversation.  
  
They were discussing the two off-road trikes. Saddiq was contemplating the direction that two of the men should take. He told one heavily armed man to follow the right-of-way under the large metal towers leading from the hydro station.   
  
She could tell he was uncertain of the direction for the second man on the trike. Finally, he ordered the man to follow the road and check side trails around the installation. She heard the motors on the vehicles rev up and watched as they sped away.   
  
Mac let out a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Saddiq had not considered the river. She watched as Saddiq and the remaining gunman retraced the search around the perimeter of the hydro plant.  
  
Slowly and silently she crept from her hiding place and made her way towards Harm's position. She skidded on her six down the steep bank towards the riverbed. The sun was setting behind the rolling hills leaving the valley bottoms dark. She squinted trying to find Harm.  
  
Harm had moved the Zodiac raft closer to the river. It was covered with leafy branches and long vines. Harm was sifting through the equipment in the bottom of the raft. A small twig snapped under her foot. In one fluid motion, she watched as he turned towards the sound while hiding himself in the leafy underbrush. When he realized it was she, he stood up slightly, welcoming her into his hiding spot.  
  
"What is going on?" he asked quietly.  
  
"One of the off-road vehicles headed up the right-of-way. The second is following the road. Saddiq and the last man are searching the installation."  
  
"I think we should get out of here," he said.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Climb into the raft. I will push us off. Leave the branches and vines on the raft till we are further downstream."  
  
She crawled under the brush and fell clumsily into the bottom of the raft. Harm gave a strong heave and she could feel the boat starting to float on the river. He was sloshing in the ankle deep water, freeing the rubber bottom from rocks and other obstructions.  
  
Suddenly, there was the bark of a rifle. Ping! She heard a bullet popping upstream. Peering out through the brush she saw Saddiq standing on the top of the dam taking aim. Harm was running beside the Zodiac, pushing it into deeper water and faster current.  
  
"Duck down," yelled Harm. It was at least 200 yards from the top of the dam. It would be a challenge for even an experienced marksman. In this dwindling light, she prayed that Saddiq's shots would be wide.   
  
The water level was reaching Harm's upper thighs impeding his progress. The boat was moving faster. If he didn't jump soon, he would miss the opportunity. She sat up pushing aside branches.  
  
"Jump!" shouted Mac. She reached for his arms as he made a wild fling at the boat. Gripping his underarm, she hauled him hard over the wide sides before the current could sweep him away. Ping! She heard another bullet hit the water at a spot where they had been seconds before.   
  
The distance from the dam was increasing. Soon they would be out of range. But before Mac could relax, she heard the revving of the off-road trike. The rider must have heard the shots. She looked up and saw it speeding to catch up with them using the clear path along the muddy flats on the side of the river. She looked ahead. The mud flats ended as the river spilled into the gorge. She tried to gauge the distance they had to travel. It was about 75 yards.  
  
She grabbed a paddle under the lashings on the side of the boat. Dipping it in the water, she pulled back hard and raft shot forward. She repeated the action, concentrating on the entrance to the steep walled gorge.  
  
Harm was lying in the bottom of the raft panting heavily with his eyes closed. The rough handling on the way into the raft had re-injured his shoulder.   
  
Mac looked back at their pursuer. He had stopped his trike and was dismounting. She watched as he reached for his automatic weapon and prepared to aim. He wanted to get a shot off before they entered the turn into the steeply walled valley ahead. She paddled faster.  
  
Ping, ping, ping! She could hear the noisy spray of bullets from an automatic weapon. But the bullets hit harmlessly on the rocky banks as the Zodiac entered the turn into the gorge. She let out a breath. They were safe.  
  
"Are we through?" asked Harm rolling to his good side and slowly sitting up.  
  
"Uh huh," she said. Mac pushed the remaining vines and brush off the sides of the Zodiac and into the water. "How is the shoulder?"  
  
He winced as he rested propped against the rounded sides of the boat. The aftermath of the adrenaline and mad scramble through the water had left him shaky. "It hurts."  
  
Mac spied a first aid kit lashed to the side of the river raft. Grabbing it, she held it up in front of his face. "Isn't it nice that people are so thoughtful? It's like they knew we were going to misappropriate their boat. Or biplane as the case may be."  
  
Harm looked at her warily. "What are you going to do with that?"  
  
She grinned at him. "I'm just changing the dressing, Navy."  
  
"Just the dressing," he said sternly and he turned his back towards her. "You are going to have to stop calling me that, Mac. Not in the Navy anymore, remember?"  
  
"Do you really believe that?" she said as stripped his shirt and took off the remains of the sodden bandage.  
  
"I did submit the proper forms in triplicate. I'm on terminal leave," he said wincing as she dabbed antiseptic cream on the wound.  
  
"So there is still wiggle room. Chegwidden could reinstate you."  
  
"Sure, I guess. Some of it depends on how this all plays out between the CIA, the Navy and the State Department. There are some people who won't like an unauthorized foray into a secret operation of the CIA."  
  
"You do want to come back to the Navy, right Harm?" said Mac. There was a peculiar resignation to his voice she hadn't heard before.  
  
He was silent. Mac waited for his reply. When it didn't come, she said. "Harm?"  
  
More silence. She tried again. "Harm?" She leaned forward to look into his face. His eyes were staring at an invisible point on the horizon.  
  
He started to speak. "I've started to wonder lately if the Navy really wants me. Three weeks in the brig for a murder that I didn't commit didn't help."  
  
Singer's murder trial! The vivid events in Paraguay had made that seem like a lifetime had passed since then. But in reality, Harm had been released from the brig only two weeks ago.   
  
"I never got a chance to talk to you about that, did I? I tried but Webb's op got in the way and I had to catch that plane to Paraguay," she said.  
  
"Finding you and Webb has had at least one advantage. It's taken my mind off that trial," said Harm.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.  
  
"I did, the night that you showed up in that pregnancy getup. But not now. Too much has happened since then."   
  
Mac put tape across the new dressing on his wound in silence. She contemplated what he said. She knew what had happened in the intervening time between the trial and current events in Paraguay. Webb had happened. Harm had all but admitted earlier that he believed she had feelings for Webb.  
  
He looked tired. This wasn't a time for either of them to dive into painful emotions. The raft was floating slowly on the slow current in the gorge. There was a quarter moon hanging in the sky above them.  
  
"Do you want to get some sleep?" she asked. "I will take first watch."  
  
"Keep an eye on the current. It will speed up if we approach rapids or falls. Wake me if you are unsure," he said curling up in the bottom of the raft.  
  
She motioned for him to put his head in her lap. It didn't take long before she heard his slow regulated breath signaling that he was asleep. She leaned against the soft sides of the raft, stroking his hair with her hand.  
  
1 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: The Spider and the Fly VI  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
  
  
True to his naval training and its centuries old tradition of watch keeping, Harm woke four hours later. They were still wandering downstream. In the dim light of the moon, Harm could see that the raft had emerged from the gorge. The river was now winding through gently undulating terrain of fields and pastures.   
  
"Let's stop here," said Harm pointing to a small copse of trees by the riverbank. "I don't want to be on the river when the sun rises. Saddiq will be waiting for us."  
  
Picking up an oar, he guided the raft over to the muddy flats. Mac jumped nimbly out and grabbed a rope. Harm joined her and they started to pull the raft up the bank toward the trees.  
  
"Wait," said Mac. "This raft is a homing beacon with its yellow color. Why don't we let it drift down the river as a diversion? Maybe it will keep Saddiq busy for a while. We can continue on foot."  
  
"Good thinking," said Harm. He grabbed the small pack, knife and shoved the raft back into the current. They watched as it drifted away swallowed up in the darkness.  
  
They both scrambled up the small rise and onto a farmer's pasture. Harm pointed to a shadowy structure in the distance. It was a small lean-to near the river filled with hay and animal feed for the occupants of the pasture. "Let's sleep there for a couple of hours."  
  
Mac collapsed into the sweet smelling hay. Harm joined her, hesitating briefly before wrapping his arms around her. Tonight he could hold her. Tomorrow? It may be denied him forever. He pulled strands of hay over them as concealment. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.   
  
Harm first heard a distinctive click as ammunition was loaded into the chamber. His sleepy mind took a few seconds to register the noise. His eyes sprang open and he was instantly aware of a man standing over them. The barrel of a shotgun was pointed at his head. Beside him, Mac stifled a small scream.  
  
"Who are you?" the man said in German.  
  
He could feel Mac relax slightly beside. No terrorist was this man but one of the Mennonite farmers in the valley. It could have been worse.  
  
"Americans. Tourists. We were rafting on the river and lost our boat. Can you help us?" Mac replied in her schoolgirl German. "We are unarmed."  
  
The man studied them for a while. He motioned for them to stand. He dropped the barrel of gun but his finger remained on the trigger. His eyes traveled over their bloodied and torn clothes.   
  
In perfect English, he spoke, "I want no trouble here. We live in this valley with an assortment of 'neighbors.' They don't bother us if we don't interfere with them."  
  
He was referring to the Paraguayan drug lords and their connections to the underground. People like Saddiq.   
  
Mac replied, "We just need to make a phone call to the American Embassy. Or perhaps borrow a car? We need to get to Asunción. My companion is hurt." Harm jerked slightly with surprise then grabbed his shoulder.  
  
"Over there." The man pointed with the barrel of his shotgun to an assortment of buildings in the distance. Mac and Harm started to walk as the farmer followed. It was early morning and the pasture was wet with dew. No words were exchanged as they plodded along.   
  
Instead of taking them to the main farmhouse, the German farmer led them to a windowless shed off to one side.   
  
"Wait here," he said. They stood in the open farmyard. There were vehicles on the Chaco Highway in the distance. Harm and Mac looked at one another. They were so close.  
  
Emerging from the farmhouse fifteen minutes later, the farmer was carrying a covered tray and a set of keys. He unlocked the deadbolt lock on the door to the shed and motioned them to go inside. It was an empty garage of sorts, with mechanic tools hung around the edge. Switching on a light, he set the tray down on the bench.  
  
"Some breakfast for you. Hungry, right?" he said and walked out of the door. Mac lifted the yellow gingham towel over the tray. It was filled with pastries, muffins, cheese and homemade bread. A pitcher of apple cider rounded out the meal. She looked at Harm and smiled. He rolled his eyes and smiled back.  
  
The farmer entered the shed again. This time he had two towels, a bucket of hot water, soap and two clean pressed shirts. "I thought you might like to clean up a bit," he said pointing to their ruined clothes.  
  
Before they could thank him, he had exited again, locking the deadbolt on his way out.  
  
Harm looked sideways at Mac. "I think he wants to keep us here."  
  
"Yeah," she said. "But why?"  
  
"Maybe he is hiding us from his 'neighbors'?"  
  
"Maybe he is keeping us for his 'neighbor.'"  
  
"A neighbor like Saddiq, maybe?" said Harm.  
  
Mac felt a prickle of fear run down her spine. Why indeed, would the farmer lock them in this shed? Out of the blue, she felt tears spring to her eyes. They hadn't come this far just to be placed back in the hands of that madman. She tried to prevent it but her mind wandered to that outbuilding on the compound with car battery and wires. Could she face that again?  
  
Harm reached for the pitcher and pored a glass of cider. He could read the fear in Mac's eyes. Somehow, someway he had to prevent them from landing in the hands of Saddiq Faud.  
  
"Here is some cider," he said. "Non-alcoholic. I tested it myself."  
  
She forced her mind back to the present. "Thanks," she said, knowing her appetite was gone. Gathering all of her strength, she forced herself to act normally. "I'm starving," she lied.   
  
A flash of admiration appeared briefly in Harm's eyes. This indomitable spirit of hers was a side of Mac that he would always love. Marine training? Maybe, but he suspected that she always had it, even before she joined the Corps.  
  
He picked up a muffin and wandered over to the clothes that the farmer had left. He threw the smaller shirt toward Mac. "Why don't you use the bucket first? I'll turn my back."  
  
"A gentleman to the end," she said without thinking. She quickly looked up at Harm. He was looking at her with an expressionless face. "Poor choice of words. I'm sorry," she retracted quickly.  
  
"It's okay," he said turning his back.  
  
Her hair was slicked back and her face was cleaned of blood and dirt, when Harm finally turned around again. The large T-shirt was cinched at the waist with a knot.   
  
"How do I look?" she smiled at him.  
  
"Pretty good for marine," he said.   
  
He gingerly stripped his shirt feeling the light cloth pass over the wound on his shoulder. He glanced at her. Before she could speak, he started, "I know what you are going to say. You can change the dressing after I finish cleaning up."  
  
He lathered the soap, working the lather over his face. He had a two-day beard growth. Wonder if the farmer would lend him a razor? He washed his arms and chest. He poured the remaining water over his head, rinsing the soap away. He almost felt human again.  
  
Mac had dug the first-aid kit out of the pack. She sat down behind and began to tear off the old bandage.   
  
"Harm?" she said.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"If you don't return to JAG, have you given any thought about what you are going to do next?"  
  
"A little," he said.  
  
"There is number of law firms in DC that would love to hire you."  
  
"I guess," Harm replied. "But I don't see myself representing some military contractor in court against the Navy."  
  
"Okay, next guess. A flight instructor."  
  
"Maybe. Sounds a little routine," said Harm.  
  
"A commercial airline pilot," said Mac.  
  
"Sounds very routine, yeeech." Harm frowned.  
  
"A Jazz guitarist in a Georgetown pub?"  
  
"Now you are getting closer. You think someone might pay me to play the guitar?" Harm sounded hopeful.  
  
"Well, you better think of something. You are still paying off the corvette, right?" She patted him on the back. "All done. It is healing nicely. I did a pretty good job with it, all things considered."  
  
Harm shrugged on the clean chambray shirt. "Don't quit your day job," he quipped.  
  
"Now if I quit my day job, where would that leave the admiral with both of us gone?" she said.  
  
"A lot happier?" he said. They sat down side-by-side together sipping cider.   
  
"Harm?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thank you for all did," she said.  
  
"You mean crashing a plane and ending up in the hands of a farmer who is about to give us to God-knows-who?"  
  
"No, I mean quitting your job, going against orders just to rescue Webb and myself," she said.  
  
"You are welcome," he said.  
  
Outside, there was the sound of a vehicle crunching on gravel and men's muffled voices. Mac turned to Harm. She hadn't expected this so soon. Was it Saddiq?  
  
1 


	7. Chapter 7

The Spider and the Fly - Part VII  
  
Harm tried to separate the muffled sounds outside. There was at least three people talking, all men. He reached down into the pack and grabbed the hunting knife. He stuck in the side of his sock along the inside of his ankle.  
  
He looked around the shed. There was an assortment of tools hanging from hooks. Most would be useless against the automatic weapons Saddiq's men would undoubtedly be carrying. He threw Mac a pair of small wire clippers and an Exacto knife. He hoped they would an opportunity to use them. She hid them in her pants.  
  
Then it struck him. He could not follow the conversation of the men outside but he was pretty sure they were speaking English. Would a German farmer and Muslim fanatics speak American English? Perhaps, if there was no other common language. But something was familiar about it all.  
  
He heard them move closer to the shed. He walked over to stand slightly in front of Mac. He smiled wryly at his protective move. In another space and time, she would be angry at the implied gesture.  
  
The door opened and four men came out of the glaring light and into the shadows of the shed. Harm and Mac stood gapped mouth.  
  
"You look a little surprised, Commander. Expecting some one else maybe?" said Retired Rear Admiral Tom Boone.  
  
Behind Tom, Harm could see Gunny smiling. The third man was their other Mennonite friend. It was the farmer whose crop duster they crashed in the woods upstream. He stood beside the farmer they met this morning. Both men were grim faced.  
  
Mac released the breath she was holding. She never expected this. What was Tom Boone doing in Paraguay?  
  
"Mac, did I ever tell you that the admiral had arranged Tom Boone as my unofficial contact?" said Harm. She shook her head slowly, speechless.  
  
"Course I never thought he would show up here," Harm looked at Tom.  
  
"Even before your wheels on that biplane left the ground, our German friend here phoned the US Embassy to find out about you from your passport. I had already made some discrete inquires through the Embassy and they alerted me. Hours later, this entire valley knew about the destruction of the stinger missiles by a pilot in a small crop duster. About the same time, Gunny shows up at the hospital in Asuncion with Webb. He met my plane early yesterday. We spent the night at this man's farm. It's just down the road." Tom had an attitude of alert authority that Mac found reassuring.  
  
She turned to Gunny. "Webb. Is he still alive?"  
  
"Yes ma'am," said Gunny. "He should be out of surgery by now. When he is stabilized, his mother has a charted plane waiting to take him back to Washington. He was asking about you, ma'am. He will be glad to know you are safe."  
  
"Are we safe now?" asked Mac looking between Tom and the German farmers.  
  
"No," one said. "I am Eric Staebler, by the way. And you are not safe. Saddiq is a brutal man and he cannot let the destruction of the stinger missiles go unpunished. He has offered a reward for you. My friend here, at some peril to himself, phoned me instead of Saddiq. You must leave here now."  
  
"I thought you had betrayed us with the van," said Harm. "My apologies."  
  
"When I realized who it belonged to, I had to rid myself of it. I left it abandoned along a deserted road. We live in the same valley as these vicious men but we do not agree with them. But I will not hesitate to keep my family and my community safe. Go now, or I will be forced to call Saddiq myself."  
  
"Now what?" said Harm looking to Tom.  
  
"I don't really know what. I have a rental SUV that I have been using but I don't trust going through the army barricades with a bounty on your head," he said. He turned to Staebler. "You don't by any chance, have another plane hidden somewhere, do you?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "But I have one more suggestion. Turn north and drive to the Mennonite town of Filadelfia. I will give you an address. My friend takes a daily shipment of produce from this valley to Asuncion. He will let you hide in his truck. But he must stick to his schedule or it will raise suspicions."  
  
"Won't we be putting you and your friend at risk?" asked Mac.  
  
"Yes, some. But we have done this before. Like I said, we don't agree with our neighbors. Now go, quickly," he said.  
  
Harm stuck out his hand to Eric Staebler. "Thank you."  
  
He nodded to Harm. "American Navy, my little crop duster and dynamite make a good bomber, no?"  
  
Harm smiled. "Yes, thank you. We owe you our lives."  
  
He nodded again and made a small salute. Mac, Harm, Tom and Gunny made their way to the Jeep parked in the farmer's yard.  
  
Harm turned abruptly before stepping into the back seat. "Wait a minute. I need to ask them something. Why did he lock us in the shed?"  
  
Boone grinned at Harm. "I told him to. And I would have had you chained to a post if I could. How else was I going to get you to stay in one spot till we got here?"  
  
Harm grinned back. How else indeed?  
  
Mac lay back in the scented water of the soaker tub and closed her eyes. She was in the private bath off of her elegantly appointed room in the American Embassy in Asuncion. It was the first time in weeks that she felt safe. Sort of safe anyways. She wouldn't feel totally safe until she stepped into the concourse at Dulles Airport.  
  
The rest of day had been uneventful compared with the adrenaline rush of the last week. They met Staebler's associate in Filadelfia. It hadn't been the first time he had smuggled someone to Asuncion. The truck had been cleverly altered to hide several people. It had been a bumpy ride to the capital but they reached the Embassy without incident.  
  
A doctor at the Embassy checked her over for wounds and injuries. He gave her some Ibuprofen for aches and some sleeping pills for later. The ambassador's wife led her to her room. There she found a short linen skirt, a beige cotton sweater set, undergarments and a pair of strappy sandals. The fully stock bathroom contained shampoos, conditioners and makeup among other things. Mac felt like she died and gone to heaven.  
  
Mac opened her eyes again and started to scrub her hair. She couldn't get too comfortable. Boone had arranged for a secure call to Admiral Chegwidden in thirty minutes. She smiled as she could feel the grit on her scalp under her fingers. Hair, nails, makeup, a shave all in thirty minutes? She better hurry.  
  
She stepped into the ambassador's officer precisely on time. She looked around and saw Gunny, Boone and the Ambassador.  
  
She heard the speakerphone ring and the admiral's tinny voice came across the line. "Chegwidden."  
  
"Admiral, it's Colonel Mackenzie."  
  
"It's good to hear your voice, Colonel."  
  
"It's good to hear yours too, sir."  
  
"Is your little escapade over? Are you in one piece?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"We are getting a little backed up here. It will be good to have you back."  
  
"It will be good to be back, sir."  
  
"I hear that you managed to take out the stinger missiles. Nice work, Colonel."  
  
"Much of the credit for that goes to the Commander, sir."  
  
"Is he there?" asked Chegwidden.  
  
Mac didn't know where he was. She looked at Boone.  
  
"Harm is sleeping off a sedative the doctor gave him. Seems there was an additional fragment in that shoulder wound. He had to reopen it," said Tom.  
  
"Is he okay?" asked the admiral.  
  
"Yes sir"  
  
"Well, Webb has arranged for the same charter plane that brought him home to return to pick all of you up tomorrow. Gunny, it is no longer safe for you to be part of the marine attachment at the Embassy in Paraguay. You are to report to Quantico for new orders as soon as convenient. Mac, I'll expect to see you when you return. I want a full report on my desk ASAP."  
  
"What about the commander, sir?"  
  
"What about him, Colonel?"  
  
"Any orders, sir?"  
  
"None. Tom, thanks again for all of your help."  
  
"No problem, AJ"  
  
Tom reached over and disconnected the line. "The ambassador wants to know if anyone would like to join him in an hour for dinner?"  
  
Mac shook her head. "I am tired. Could I beg off this time?"  
  
"I arrange for a meal to be sent to your room, Colonel," the ambassador said.  
  
She nodded in thanks. Walking down the corridor to her room, she spied a maid coming from a room with a stack of towels. She realized it was Harm's room.  
  
She slipped into the darkened room. Harm was sleeping on the white sheets of the bed on his side. She could see a new clean dressing taped to his shoulder. She walked over to the bed and slipped under the covers fully dressed. She spooned next to his back and threw her arm over him. She closed her eyes. 


	8. Chapter 8

Title: The Spider and the Fly VIII  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
Part VIII  
  
Meredith watched as AJ finished his run with Dammit. She could see him approach down the street in the diminishing daylight. She was looking forward to a good talk with him this evening. Their relationship had been a challenge lately. AJ had retreated into himself since the news about Mac missing in Paraguay. It wasn't a surprise to Meredith that Harm had followed Mac to Paraguay but she worried about AJ's reaction. She knew that AJ's brusque manner belied how close he was to his officers.   
  
Today there had been good news. This morning, she had just set her purse down on her desk at work when a call came through from JAG. It was Tiner and he told her that Mac and Harm had been found. Events unfolded throughout the day and by 5.00 pm, AJ himself called to inform her that they were safe in the US Embassy in Asuncion. She could hear the relief in his voice.  
  
She greeted him at the door with a smile, a kiss and a beer. Her eyes ran over him and felt her pulse pick up. He was in good shape for a man of any age. He sat down on a kitchen chair, panting and scratching Dammit's ears.  
  
"Good run?" she said.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Got all your problems squared away?"  
  
"I don't have any problems," he said and winked at her.  
  
"It was good to hear about Mac and Harm. How did the office take the news?"  
  
"With a lot of relief. Both Harriet and Jennifer Coates cried. There was something about this situation that had everyone worried," he said taking a long swig of beer.  
  
"I bet it didn't help that Clayton Webb was evacuated from Paraguay in such terrible condition. Lord only knows what was done to him," she said.  
  
"The doctors at Johns Hopkins say he will be okay. Time and a little plastic surgery will work wonders." He leaned back in the chair.  
  
"He is at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore?"  
  
"Only the best for Mrs. Webb's little boy."  
  
"Now the office can go back to normal, right?" she asked.  
  
"Almost. But not quite," he said quietly.  
  
"Almost?"  
  
AJ sighed and forced himself to think about a topic he wanted to avoid. "Rabb resigned his commission to find Mac."  
  
"I know. But that is easily overturned, right?"  
  
"Not so easy when the officer in question is as senior and as well-known as Harm. But still do-able."  
  
"What are you worried about?" she said quietly. It was all coming out now.  
  
"I haven't heard if Harm wants to be reinstated. And somehow, I don't think he is going to do it."  
  
"Why?" she asked puzzled. Why wouldn't Harm want to return to JAG?  
  
"Well, it is just a feeling I have. This crisis with Mac came directly on the heels of Singer's murder trial," he said slowly, trying to organize his thoughts.  
  
"Accused and then tried for murder was rough."  
  
"The three weeks Harm had in the brig during that ill-fated trial had an effect. Believe me, it would have an effect on anyone. But Rabb is tough and his attitude is good. He was putting it all behind him. Then Mac went missing."  
  
"She has more influence over him than he cares to admit," Meredith knew where AJ was going with this. "It was like tearing away his anchor."  
  
AJ nodded. "It is an understatement to say that Mac and Harm have a unique relationship. Hell, half the time I don't understand it. But one thing I am sure of is this. His feelings for her run pretty deep. I could never stop him once he had the idea of going to Paraguay."  
  
"To rescue the woman he loves. It all sounds pretty romantic to me," she smiled at him.  
  
AJ snorted. "There is something you don't know. Gunny told me this yesterday. He thought I should know. Which is funny in of itself. Gunny isn't one to pass on idle gossip. He said that after they found Mac and Webb in the terrorist compound, Webb confessed to Mac that he loved her. And Harm overheard this."  
  
"Gunny is perceptive," she said. "You are afraid that Harm might find it hard to return to JAG. Especially if Mac takes up with Webb. Does Mac even like Webb?"  
  
"I have no idea," he said. "I have one more confession to make."   
  
"That is...?" she said.  
  
"Well, I made a couple of comments to Harm before he left that I am not proud of. Especially in light of recent events. I challenged him about his relationship with Mac."  
  
"It will be hard for him to face you. Is this the reason you have been so quiet lately?" she said.  
  
"One of them, I guess. It's not easy to watch and do nothing when your friends are in danger."  
  
"Being the Judge Advocate General of the Navy has its drawbacks sometimes," she answered quietly.  
  
"Yes it does," he said with more vehemence than he intended. They sat in the dwindling daylight and said nothing.  
  
Admiral AJ Chegwidden walked through the corridors of Johns Hopkins Hospital with purpose. His chat with Meredith last night had put things into perspective for him. Harm and Mac and their relationship would always be an enigma to him. This he knew. Past experience told him that there was little he could do to help them.   
  
But this time was different. He wanted to get his office back to normal. Which meant getting Harm and Mac back to normal. Enigmatic relationship and everything.   
  
He knew of one obstacle between him and a normal office. And he was going to have a talk with that obstacle. Now.  
  
Room 341. Here it is. AJ stepped into Clayton Webb's room. He paused a moment and reminded himself not to feel sorry for the man in the bed. Despite that, he shuddered with inner horror at the marks and bruises all over Webb. He looked bad.  
  
Webb opened his eyes and smiled at him. "AJ. It is good to see you. That is as long as you are not coming to hit me because of the op in Paraguay?"  
  
The admiral smiled too. "It has crossed my mind but you look so god damn pathetic. How you doing Webb?"  
  
"Thankful, I think. Better since I got the news yesterday about Sarah and Harm."  
  
"Yeah, that was a relief."  
  
"I guess I need to thank you for some of that."  
  
"Don't thank me. Thank Rabb. I tried everything I could to stop him from going to Paraguay. Boone helped me keep track of him after he resigned his commission."  
  
"Rabb won't be out of the Navy long, right? You will take him back?" said Webb.  
  
"People keep asking me that. I really don't know, Webb. Harm hasn't told me yet what he wants to do," said AJ.  
  
Webb shook his head. "I don't think the private sector is ready for Harmon Rabb."  
  
The admiral smiled. "What does your boss think about this little mis-adventure?"  
  
"The destruction of the stinger missiles is considered an important accomplishment. But we uncovered evidence of a leak in the operation down there. That is the bad news. Don't worry, I don't think the director of the CIA is coming after Harm. In fact, he might like to hire him." Webb looked at AJ.  
  
"And Colonel Mackenzie?"  
  
Webb swallowed. "Of course the company is in her debt. Sarah went through a lot and was a key component to the success of the mission."   
  
AJ continued. "And how do you feel about 'Sarah?'"  
  
Clayton Webb drew himself up on his bed and took a long, hard look at the Admiral. He said softly, "I'm not sure if that is any of your business, admiral."  
  
"I'm making it my business, Webb."  
  
"And this is because...?"  
  
AJ said. "This is because you work in a dangerous field, my friend. And that is the last time you are taking one of my officers TAD to one of your ops. Colonel Mackenzie deserves better than that and you know it."  
  
"If I didn't know better, I would swear you had feelings for her yourself, AJ."  
  
"I do have feelings for her. As a friend and a fellow co-worker. Be careful where you take those feelings that you have for her," said AJ.  
  
"She loves Rabb you know, admiral. But he is oblivious to it. Maybe she deserves better than that."  
  
"That is for her to decide," he said and got up to leave.   
  
"That we can agree on. It is for her to decide," said Webb.  
  
"Clay, underneath it all, you are a good man. Do the right thing here."   
  
Clayton Webb was silent.   
  
The admiral walked toward the door. "Get better, Webb. It is hard to see you in this bed." And with that, he left. 


	9. Chapter 9

Title: The Spider and the Fly IX  
  
Author: Nan  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.   
  
Spoilers: Tangled Web  
  
Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web   
  
Part IX  
  
Mac was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She was staring at her olive drab marine uniform. Regulation and squared away, it was usually not her favorite piece of clothing. Today was different. Today she looked forward to wearing it. It's severe lines and uninspiring shape belied the true story. When she wore her uniform, she was instantly recognized. People who didn't know her true nature granted her respect. Authority was expected.  
  
After her exploits in Paraguay, she welcomed the deliberate directness her uniform represented. She had only been gone for ten days but returning to JAG was a homecoming of sorts. Her excessive experiences had put it all in perspective. She liked the order, the discipline and the sense of purpose that JAG represented. She was returning to get her life back.  
  
Her clock beside her bed clicked over to 7.00 a.m. Time to leave for work. She grabbed her purse, her cover and her keys and headed for her car.  
  
Gunny, Harm, Tom Boone and herself had landed yesterday afternoon at the National Airport aboard Webb's chartered Lear Jet. A couple hours later she and Gunny headed north up I95 towards Baltimore to see Clay. Harm begged off, citing his injured shoulder as an excuse.  
  
She had watched as Harm climbed out of their shared taxi at his loft north of Union Station. Harm and Mac had sat together on the flight home. Tension of the operation behind them, they chatted about little things. He told her about the repairs to his corvette and the bathroom renovation in his loft. She chatted about Chloe and her riding lessons. No mention was made of the three nights they had spent in each other's arms.  
  
But somehow, despite the closeness they had shared, Mac felt like Cinderella. And it was rapidly approaching midnight. Bong, bong, bong. Then poof! Reality was again stepping in. She was returning to JAG today with no clear idea whether Harm would be part of it or not.  
  
"Attention on deck!" Startled, she was surprised to see the bullpen full of people standing at attention as she walked through the glass doors. She stopped and smiled seeing that this honor was directed towards her. "At ease," she said and people pushed forward with well wishes and questions.   
  
After ten minutes, Admiral Chegwidden stepped in. "When you are finished here, Colonel, may I see you in my office?"  
  
"Yes sir," she said. She continued to chat for a few more minutes then excused herself. She dropped her briefcase and cover in her office and headed for the admiral's office.  
  
He was standing in front of his desk waiting for her. Turning around, he reached out his arm and warmly shook her hand. "It is good to see you, Mac. I would give you a hug but it might compromise the good order and discipline of my office."  
  
She smiled. "Yes sir."  
  
She sat down in a leather chair in front of his desk as he walked behind it. He picked up an activity report and handed it to her. "Just something to catch you up on what has happened since you left, Colonel."  
  
"Busy around here, Admiral?" she said.  
  
"Very. I need all the help I can get. The Pentagon even sent over some relief while you were gone," said the admiral.  
  
"I'm looking forward to diving back in, sir," She waited a minute. "Admiral?"  
  
He knew what the question was going to be before she asked it. "Yes?"  
  
"Have you talked with Commander Rabb, sir?"  
  
"No."  
  
She sat silently. Before she could speak, the admiral opened his mouth. "But I expect to. He is on terminal leave. He owes me at least one visit before his obligation is over."  
  
"He could be reinstated, correct sir?"  
  
"That's what everyone tells me," said AJ.  
  
"Sir, if it wasn't for Commander Rabb, neither Webb or myself would be alive. I think..."  
  
He cut her off. "Mac, don't go there. I am thankful for the return of a good officer. This country should be thankful for the destruction of those potentially destructive stinger missiles. But despite all that, I need to hear from Harm that he wants to return to JAG. And he hasn't said that yet. Not to me anyway."  
  
"Yes sir," she said. "Maybe he needs some encouragement sir?"  
  
"Maybe, but this is the Navy, not preschool."  
  
Mac felt deflated. "Yes, sir."  
  
The admiral thought about a subject he wanted to tackle. "I hear that you went to visit Webb yesterday. How is he?"  
  
"Much better than the last time I saw him, sir. I was really relieved," she said.  
  
"You and he went through a lot together, Colonel."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Experiences like that can create a special bond between people," said AJ, studiously keeping his eyes on the file on his desk.   
  
"Yes sir," Mac said expressionlessly. The admiral studied her for a minute. He mentally shrugged. Nothing, he thought. He passed over a separate file and filled her in on an impending case. The work of the day had started.  
  
"What are you doing for lunch, ma'am?" asked Harriet later. "Would you like to celebrate your return with Bud and myself at the pizza joint across the road?"  
  
"I would love to, Harriet. But first, I need to make a quick phone call," said Mac.  
  
Mac watched as Harriet exited her office. She went and closed her door and reached for her phone. She dialed Harm's loft number.   
  
She heard his rich voice. "Rabb."  
  
"Harm, just wanted to check on you. Out of bed yet?" she said keeping the conversation light.  
  
"I've been up for a couple of hours," he said.  
  
"How is the shoulder?"  
  
"Better," he said.  
  
"I'm having lunch with Bud and Harriet. Want to join us at Ben's Pizza for lunch?"  
  
"Ahh, no. I have an appointment at 1 pm," he said.  
  
"You owe the admiral a conversation."  
  
"Mac. I know what you are doing."  
  
She let out a sigh. "I'm not going to let you quit the Navy, Harm. Not without a fight."  
  
There was silence. "I appreciate that. It means a lot to me. But I have to go. I have a bit of drive a head of me."  
  
"Where are you going?" she said curious.  
  
"Langley. Bye Mac," he said and hung up.  
  
"Bye Harm," and she looked at the receiver in her hand frustrated. Langley? That means the CIA. Just a follow-up I hope, thought Mac. Then she realized no one from Langley had asked her to follow-up. What was Harm up to?  
  
  
  
4 


	10. Chapter 10

The Spider and the Fly - X  
  
Harm studied his reflection in the rear view mirror of his corvette. He was parked in the visitor's section of the JAG parking lot. For some inexplicable reason he was jumpy. It was just JAG and he was just going to a meeting with the admiral. Something he had done hundreds of times.   
  
He glanced at his wristwatch and waited till the hand moved to 8:27. Precisely enough time to walk across the parking lot, run up two flights of stairs and make it through the bullpen with minimal conversations.  
  
When Tiner had told him the only time slot available was 8.30 am, he knew the admiral had arranged a time when the bullpen was the busiest. Court had yet to start and the investigative staff would be checking messages before heading out. It would be hard for Harm to avoid friends and coworkers.  
  
He thought back to the other time he had quit JAG, when he had returned to active duty as a pilot. To say that the meeting had not gone well was an understatement. No emotional goodbyes. The admiral had made it clear then. Loyalty cuts two ways. You are either with me or against me.  
  
Quite frankly, Harm still wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He wasn't quitting to go to a passion like flying. He had no great desire to work in the private sector. All he knew is that he wasn't ready to return to JAG yet. Besides, he had this other little obligation with the deputy director of the CIA to work off.   
  
And there was Mac. He was finding it hard to work with her as some kind of androgynous friend. If she and Webb got together, it would drive him crazy. Crazy cause he loved her and crazy cause he hated the dangerous situations Webb was involved with. How could he stand by and watch that? Worry and jealousy were not a good mix. And Harm handled neither well.  
  
8:27. Harm climbed out of the Corvette shut the door and jammed the key in the lock. He turned around.  
  
"Morning, Commander." It was PO Coates. She deviated across the parking lot to walk with him.  
  
"Morning," he said returning her salute. This was going to be more painful than he thought.  
  
"It is so good to see you, sir. We were all so worried about you and the Colonel," she said.  
  
"Thanks Coates," he said.  
  
"You are not going to quit now, sir? JAG just wouldn't be the same without you."  
  
"Ah, Jennifer? I have an appointment with the admiral in two minutes. I will talk to you later, okay?" And he ducked into the stairwell.   
  
When he emerged from the stairwell, he could see Sturgis and Bud standing outside of an empty courtroom. They saw him and walked over, blocking his path through the glass doors into the bullpen.  
  
Sturgis stuck out his hand. "Harm, good to see you. When are you coming back, man?"  
  
Bud was smiling. "I tried to call you last night, sir. Thought maybe I could interest you in a game of chess?"  
  
Harm returned Bud's smile. "Gotta go Bud. Admiral is waiting." And he pointed toward the bullpen. "Talk to you later."  
  
Harriet was waiting for him on the other side of the bullpen doors. He mentally groaned. This was worse than evading Saddiq's men in Paraguay.   
  
He finally made it through to the admiral's outer office. Tiner was at attention, waiting for him.   
  
"The colonel is with the admiral, sir. He asked that you wait here. He will be finished soon," said Tiner.  
  
Harm nodded and sat down in a chair furthest from the open door to the bullpen. Chegwidden wasn't going to make this easy.  
  
"It is good to see you, sir," Tiner started to speak. "The admiral was in a bad mood while you and colonel were gone. It was kind of bleak around here. Now things can get back to normal."  
  
Harm nodded and tried to think of answer. He prayed this torture would end soon.  
  
  
  
#  
  
"Colonel MacKenzie was wondering if you had a minute sir," said Tiner.  
  
"Send her in."  
  
Mac sat down in the chair in front of the admiral's desk. She waited as he finished with the file in front of him. He looked up and closed the yellow manila cover.  
  
"What can I do for you, Colonel?"  
  
"I was just wondering what was decided with Commander Rabb, sir. Some of the staff were curious," said Mac in her best noncommittal voice.  
  
"Some of the staff?"  
  
"Okay. I guess I should say everyone wants to know if he is returning."  
  
AJ Chegwidden leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Not decided. Harm has 41 days of leave on the books. He has already eaten up six of those days. With weekends, that means he has almost two months of leave. So he is going to take them and then tell me his decision later. The option is still open for him to return but his status is still terminal leave."  
  
Mac remained silent. Not the worse news but not the best either.  
  
The admiral continued. "When he quit here and went down to Paraguay, he made a deal with the deputy director of the CIA in exchange for information of your whereabouts. The director is calling in that deal now. So Harm has an obligation with the CIA that he has to work off. It sounds like he is going to Langley this afternoon for more details on what it involves."  
  
"The CIA sir?"  
  
"I'm not thrilled with this either, Mac. I am getting tired of these guys co-opting my people. First you, now Harm. But it is out of my hands. Seems the deputy director has been studying Harm's resume. He thinks he might make a good operative."  
  
"Just temporary, right sir?"  
  
He paused. "Yes. Anything else Colonel"  
  
Mac got up to leave. She was being dismissed. 


	11. Chapter 11

The Spider and the Fly - Part XI  
  
Harm sat in a black leather and chrome chair in front of desk of the Deputy Director of the CIA. He tried not to compare the sleek modern look of Harrison Kershaw's office to the wood paneled, traditional style of Admiral Chegwidden. But he couldn't help it. Even the art that hung on the wall was in contrast. JAG's gilded framed pictures of nautical scenes didn't compare with the frameless abstract art on the wall behind the deputy director's head.  
  
Harm was dressed in a three button black suit with a white shirt and grey patterned tie. He already missed the security of his uniform. In the military, your place in the pecking order was immediately apparent. Here, what he wore told a much subtler story.  
  
Harm thought wryly. I guess 'Reporting as order, sir' wouldn't be appropriate here. He was going have to train himself to talk like a civilian.  
  
"Mr. Kershaw? You wanted to see me, sir?" said Harm.  
  
Harrison Kershaw looked up from the screen of his laptop. He rose, bent over the desk and shook Harm's hand.   
  
"It is good to finally meet you, Harm. I hear my assistant showed you around yesterday and briefed you on protocols and security? Do you have any questions?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
"You are not in the military anymore Harm. Call me Harrison."  
  
Harm smiled, "Yes sir."  
  
"I read your report on Paraguay. Interesting reading. Novel approach, the way you destroyed those stinger missiles. Good work," Kershaw continued.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Something else that I found interesting was your service record. Your position as a JAG with the Navy understates the variety of your experience. You have been involved with everything from murder to espionage to MIA's to terrorism. Your classified experiences inside Russia are especially interesting. The bit about the Russian MIG was particularly interesting. You actually stole a MIG?" said Kershaw.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I often wondered why Clayton Webb kept close tabs on the some of the staff at JAG at Falls Church. Colonel Mackenzie also has a remarkable resume, don't you think?"  
  
Harm's ears tingled. Getting Mac involved in more of the CIA's type of so-called work was something he wanted to head off. For his own sanity if nothing else. "I think she has had enough excitement for a while."  
  
"Don't worry. I'm not interested in getting my fingers rapped by the Secretary of Defense. And I don't want to make an enemy out of the Navy's JAG. But she is an interesting person."  
  
Harm let out a breath. The deputy director had no idea.  
  
"What is your assessment of Saddiq Faud, Harm?"  
  
Harm shook his head once with a resigned air. "A dangerous man who has far reaching connections. He will stop at nothing. It was too bad he wasn't killed when the semi blew up."  
  
"Yes it was. Would you be surprised to know how far reaching his influence is? He has connections here."  
  
"In the US?" said Harm.  
  
"In the Washington, Maryland, Virginia area. In fact, we believe some of those stingers were to be smuggled into the US to be used against military aircraft."  
  
"I am glad they were destroyed sir."  
  
"A man like Saddiq can get more. We won't be rid of that threat until we get rid of him. And others like him," Kershaw said. "You may have guessed already, this case involves Saddiq. Not in Paraguay, but here in DC."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Saddiq belongs to a larger terrorist cell that used to include a man called Amad Bid Atwa. Do you recognize the name?" The director handed Harm a file with the CIA emblem on the cover.  
  
"Yes, he was involved in the bombing on the USS Cole. Recently, a NCIS team took him out Northern Africa, I believe." Harm tried to think of the name of the city.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Bid Atwa had been targeting Naval vessels in foreign ports as possible targets of terrorist attacks. He had been working with Saddiq to set up the same threat in the domestic US. Specifically, we believe they are operating in the Chesapeake Bay area."   
  
"Here sir?"  
  
"Yes. Your familiarity with the Naval institutions around this area will be an asset."  
  
Harm remained silent. He waited for the deputy director to continue.  
  
"In this op, you will be working with personnel from Naval Criminal Investigative Services. Will that be a problem?"  
  
"NCIS? No sir." Harm was surprised at this turn of events. Couldn't get away from the Navy even when he tried.  
  
"No problem here either but in this case, I want you to remember that you are working for the CIA, not the Navy. Will that be a problem?"  
  
"No sir. I not a current fan of NCIS," said Harm thinking about his recent murder trial.  
  
"Something I should know about, Harm?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
Kershaw glanced at his watch. "He should be waiting for us. Come, I want you to meet your NCIS contact." And he led Harm to a small meeting room down the hall.  
  
#   
  
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat idly at a small ebony-topped meeting table in a windowless room drumming his fingers. He was a man of medium height with iron-grey hair, startling blue eyes and a young face. Gibbs was dressed as he always did, casual khakis and a sport shirt. He didn't take any special consideration with his appearance just because it was Langley.   
  
Security had confirmed his identity, issued guest tags and an undistinguished clerk led him to this small room.   
  
Sitting in a CIA ante room waiting for further direction from some upper echelon type guy was not his first choice of duty. Soon as a case gets interesting, everyone wants in. Everyone wants a piece of the glory. Where were they when the grunt work was being done? Most of the work responsible for the progress to date on this little operation was due to NCIS.   
  
Yesterday, NCIS Director Morris had thrown him a wrench. It was regarding the CIA. A series of events in Paraguay involving yet another facet in this shadowy network of terrorists and extremists heightened their interest in the work he had done with Bid Atwa. They now wanted a piece of the action. Jurisdictions between NCIS and the CIA were blurred. In this case, Morris had not choice but to comply.   
  
So here he was. Waiting to see what shape their interest might take. Maybe he will be assigned a weenie tech operative with not much field experience. One could always hope. The type that runs for cover when the action becomes too real. And then Gibbs could run the show the way he wanted to.  
  
(Author's Note - Okay, okay - so I introduced Mark Harmon from NCIS into my little story. Ever since Ice Queen and Meltdown, I couldn't help thinking what a good-looking man he is. Almost as good as DJE. The two of them in the same room? Whoaaaa. Thought I might fool around with this character too. Don't worry, he is the only one from the NCIS pilot that I will have much to do with (at least in this story).   
  
One last warning. If you get really upset by this, I am prepared to retaliate. I'm thinking Harm going to England and meeting up with the director of MI5 who just happens to be played by Sean Connery (with a pony tail of course)..... Okay? 'Nuff said. - Nan) 


	12. Chapter 12

The Spider and the Fly XII  
  
Viv Blackadder watched as Gibbs entered the common work area at NCIS. To an untrained eye, Gibbs gave the appearance of calm nonchalance. But Viv knew better despite her relatively short association with the man. He was upset about something.   
  
She asked. "How was your trip to Langley?"  
  
He dismissed the comment without a word. Instead he motioned to Dinozzo and herself. "Bring up everything you have on Harmon Rabb."  
  
Agent Dinozzo narrowed one eye. "What, everything since the last time we did this which was oh," checking the date on his watch, "about four or five weeks ago?"  
  
"Yes," said Gibbs. Viv grinned to herself. He tended to be very monosyllabic at times. What was going on?  
  
Dinozzo was already on it. Studying the report on his screen, he frowned and looked back up at Gibbs. "There is only one additional entry in his service record since the trial. It says that he has resigned his commission about ten days ago."  
  
Gibbs looked at him. "I know that already. What I don't know is why did he resign his commission and what brought him to Paraguay."  
  
Blackadder said amazed. "Don't tell me. Rabb is the CIA operative who had the little run in with Saddiq Faud and destroyed the stinger missiles?"  
  
"One of three or four operatives, yes. He flew the crop duster that ultimately destroyed them."  
  
Dinozzo looked to Viv, "What did I tell you? Told you it didn't sound like a 'company op'. They don't drop dynamite out of open cockpit planes. That sounds a little too 'uncontrolled' for their tastes."  
  
"Well, it was a company op. Rabb is working for them. And now I am working with Rabb as this case goes forward," said Gibbs. He folded his arms as they both stared at him in disbelief.  
  
#  
  
Mac raised her right hand and rapped on the metal door that led into Harm's apartment. She was hoping he was there. It was disconcerting how little contact she had with him over the last few days.   
  
At JAG, office staff made it their job to know the whereabouts of all senior staff. In the past, Harm and herself would go weeks without so much as a word between them. But there was always someone in the office that knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. She could glance through the blinds and watch him rush to interview a witness. It was reassuring.  
  
But now there was nothing but silence. She had tried to call him but his JAG cell always rang to an answering service. Among other things, she needed to get his new number.  
  
Hearing his steps on the other side of the door, she smiled with relief and anticipation. She worried that he had already left the country without a word to her.  
  
"Hey," he said as he opened the door. In one hand he had the guitar. Guitar again, she mused to herself. She had gone years without seeing him so much as touch the acoustic guitar in the corner of his apartment. Now recently, she had caught him twice playing it. Was there something to be read into that?  
  
"It's late but I wanted to see how you were. Bud and I just returned from Baltimore," she said.  
  
He turned his face away from hers. "How's Webb?"  
  
"Better and better. He is wondering why you haven't dropped by yet."  
  
"Uuhh," said Harm. Damn, busted. "I just haven't had a chance. But I intend to." He answered truthfully. He did intend to see Webb. No matter what happened, he counted Clay as one of his closest friends.   
  
Mac wandered over to the counter. She spied a couple of maritime charts spread over the surface. She peered closer. They were charts of the Chesapeake Bay.   
  
"Taking a sailing trip?" she said.  
  
"Something like that," he lied and gathered up the charts.   
  
She looked at him puzzled. He was hiding something. Perfect lead into the topic that was bothering her most. "So, have you started the little obligation with the CIA yet?"  
  
"Today," he said.  
  
"Are you traveling anywhere?"  
  
He looked at her a moment and smiled. "Nope. This little op will take place right around here. I should be sleeping in my own bed every night."  
  
She smiled back. "That is a relief."  
  
"Am I giving you nightmares again?" he asked.  
  
"Among other things. Last couple of weeks reinforced the idea that there is a dangerous world out there," she said.  
  
He nodded. "Boy, I can agree with that." He paused, and then started again. "Do you remember Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm working with him on this. A joint operation between NCIS and the CIA."  
  
"Really. Wow. What do you think about that?"  
  
"I'm not sure really. The guy did tried to pin a murder on me after all."  
  
"Yeah, he did. But didn't his testimony turn the tide in the trial?"  
  
"Yeah," Harm narrowed his eyes. "But...."  
  
"Something about the NCIS guys that drives you nuts, right? It is the fact they are civilians. It puts them on a different plane. I mean our investigations are never compromised because we are military, right? I find the concept somewhat insulting," said Mac.  
  
"Gibbs is actually a marine. In the reserve. Gunnery Sergeant. But out of the chain of command as far as NCIS is concerned. Actually, the whole command influence thing is a non-starter. I'm a civilian too. Remember?"   
  
"How could I forget? So, are you two civilians going to be able to get along?"  
  
Harm grinned. "I get along with everyone. Right?"  
  
Mac changed the subject to JAG. She wanted to keep Harm up on what was happening. He was going to return to it, right?   
  
#  
  
Gibbs was sitting on a bar stool next to the counter in the kitchen of Harmon Rabb's apartment. No, make that Harmon Rabb, Jr. Gibbs smiled. No matter what you did with the name, it didn't sound as impressive as Commander Harmon Rabb.  
  
It was 7:15 a.m. and he was waiting as Rabb finished dressing. He wasn't sure what came over him. His prearranged pickup time for Rabb this morning was 7.30. Something had spurred him to be early. Maybe it was the investigator in him that was driven to find out every detail of the people he was involved with.  
  
When he knocked on Rabb's door, he found the ex-commander dressed only in a dark terry robe and a slightly annoyed look. He gestured to the coffee pot and told Gibbs to make himself comfortable.  
  
He grabbed a coffee mug from the counter, his eyes taking in every detail. The loft was immaculately clean and rigorously organized. Even the desk in the corner was squared away. But this didn't surprise Gibbs. He had investigated his share of military personnel over the years. Their training often spilled over into their personal lives.  
  
The lines of the room were sleek and modern. As his gaze wandered, he couldn't help but wonder if Rabb had renovated the space himself. The layout and location of the loft was atypical. This was usually a dead giveaway for a home handy man job. But quality of the workmanship was high and Gibbs gave his grudging approval.  
  
Ahhh. There it was thought Gibbs. He spied a shelving unit adorned with pictures, models and other memorabilia from Rabb's personal life.   
  
He walked slowly over and studied the various artifacts. He could see a much younger Harmon Rabb in a graduation picture from the Naval Academy. No surprise there. The model of an F-14 looked like it had been put there recently as an afterthought. He realized it must have been the one from his office. NCIS had torn his JAG office apart during the investigation.  
  
There was fighter pilot's helmet on the floor with the call sign "Hammer" on it. He spied a black and white picture of another pilot with a little boy and a call sign "Hammer." This must be the MIA father, thought Gibbs.  
  
He looked and saw another framed picture. There were two people in camouflage gear, smiling. A man and a woman. Upon closer inspection, he could see it was Rabb and someone who looked vaguely familiar. Where had he seen that face before? He thought back to the investigation. It was Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. What did they call her again? Mac, he remembered.  
  
He thought again. She had also been in Paraguay on this latest op. In fact, she had been co-opted by the CIA to play Clayton Webb's pregnant wife.  
  
Bingo, he thought. There was the reason Rabb had resigned his commission. 


	13. Chapter 13

The Spider and the Fly XIII  
  
Harm stared unfocused out of the passenger window of the NCIS standard issue sedan. They had been going at it for almost 12 hours straight and he was beginning to feel tired. The flat terrain of Maryland's Eastern Shore passed by uneventfully.   
  
He had played catch-up from the beginning. He reminded himself that Gibbs had three months of work invested in this little operation. He had exactly ten days, most of which was spent in Paraguay running from Saddiq. There hadn't been time or opportunity to mull over background reports or sift through reams of intelligence.  
  
It was more than that. Gibb's had an inexhaustible supply of people inside NCIS he could tap for help and information. Harm's network inside the CIA was exactly three. Two of which were too senior to help with the mundane details of intell work and the last was lying in a hospital in Baltimore. Harm was beginning to appreciate people like Harriet, Coates, Tiner and Gunny more and more.  
  
It had been Gibbs' proposal that they spend a couple of days driving the length of Chesapeake Bay. Harm found it an interesting suggestion. Attending the Naval Academy and living in DC had meant that he had spent over 20 years living near this huge and important estuary of water. He had vacationed here. He had worked here. But this was the first time he looked at it from a terrorist's point of view.   
  
They had started driving south toward the mouth of the Bay. For the last three days they had wandered along shoreline roads, getting a feel for military installations, power plants, remote and isolated bays. Anything that might give an indication of Saddiq's intentions. They crossed the bridge/tunnel system at the mouth of the bay yesterday and started driving north up the Delmarva Peninsula.  
  
Harm thought about enormity of the task they were undertaking. The Chesapeake was roughly 200 miles long and 30 miles at its widest point. Forty-eight large rivers and 100's of smaller creeks drain into the bay. That included both the Potomac and the Susquehanna. Over 15 million people live on or near the bay.   
  
Its numerous bays and inlets meant it is a boater's paradise with 4400 miles of shoreline and 175,000 registered pleasure craft. Two major ports of commerce at Baltimore and Hampton Roads process roughly 90 million tons of imports and exports per year.  
  
The significance of the Bay to United States military was incalculable. Nearly 50 bases representing every branch of the military were located near or on the bay. Naval Station Norfolk positioned at the mouth of the Chesapeake is considered to be the largest military installation in the world. It is the hub for activities in the European and the Central Command theatres of operation.  
  
There was no doubt about it. Any successful terrorist attack in this region would carry enormous political and symbolic significance both here and abroad.  
  
Harm stole a glance at his companion. It had been three days now and he knew little more about Gibbs. Gibbs on the other hand, seemed to have endless knowledge of Harm's career and life, thanks to his in-depth investigation during the murder trial.  
  
Although it was irritating, Harm found it hard to fault him for that. Progress to date had been slow on this case, but he couldn't fault his approach. So far, Gibbs had been forth coming when it was warranted and when it was not he was silent. Harm grinned wryly to himself. Did this guy ever make a mistake?  
  
It was not so much what Gibbs said but how he acted that gave Harm one clue to his background. Gibbs regarded Harm's military career of Annapolis, flight school, fighter pilot and JAG lawyer as privileged. Gibb's own rise through the non-commissioned ranks of the Marine Corps spoke of a rougher life. Quitting the Corps then joining NCIS made Harm wonder. Too bad he couldn't get a good look at this guy's service record.  
  
Harm rolled his shoulder in an effort to relieve the cramping. Both his height and his shoulder wound made these long driving sessions uncomfortable.   
  
"I'm stopping," said Gibbs. "It's a two and half hour drive back to DC. We can stay here for the night."  
  
Harm creased his brows together. Gotta love this guy's conversational style. No asking what Harm thought of the suggestion. Just this. But Harm supported his idea. The thought of the drive home was not appealing. Besides, maybe he could grab some of those files in Gibbs' brief case and review again the known intelligence to date.  
  
He pulled into a nondescript motel next to a restaurant/bar with the innocuous name of 'Sandy's.' Harm shot him a sidelong glance and groaned internally. He could already feel the shoddy quality of the mattress.  
  
"We could learn more there," said Gibbs pointing to the bar, "then a lounge full of business men at the Hampton Inn."  
  
Harm said nothing. Maybe Gibbs' manner was rubbing off on him.   
  
#  
  
Gibbs watched from his perch at the smoky, noisy bar as Harm made his way towards him. The ex-commander said that he needed to make a couple of calls.  
  
He studied the man. He was easy to pick out in a crowd, his 6 foot 4 inch height made him taller than most people in the room. He was dressed in jeans and a light but long sleeved, black collarless shirt. At least he knew better than to wear that expensive suit he was wearing at Langley, thought Gibbs deprecatingly.  
  
Gibbs tried to guess who he was calling. Reporting into the deputy director? Probably. Phoning Mac? Gibbs wondered. It was obvious to him whatever relationship Harm had with the Colonel was not in the open. Was he involved in an unlawful relationship between two officers in the same chain of command? Somehow he didn't think so. Rabb didn't look like the type to sneak around. It was his bet that Rabb had feelings for the colonel that he had never acted upon. Until Paraguay? Maybe.   
  
Gibbs was surprised at how well the investigation had gone. Rabb had interfered very little with the course he wanted to take. He concentrated instead on catching himself up on the reams of intelligence reports generated over the last months. Good choice. Maybe he will be of some help after all.  
  
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. A man with his record wouldn't stay in the background for long. He wondered when Harm would assert himself.  
  
"I ordered you a beer," he said as Harm sat down.  
  
"Harm," supplied Harm.  
  
Gibbs looked quizzically at him.  
  
"Even though you don't say it, I can almost hear the 'commander' at the end of every sentence. And for some reason, you won't say my name either," he said.  
  
"I ordered you a beer, Harm," said Gibbs.  
  
Harm looked at the label on the bottle. It was a Heineken. He noticed Gibbs was drinking Bud. Another not so subtle commentary on how Gibbs viewed Harm's life?  
  
Gibbs started again. "Harm. Harmon. Sounds like it should be a last name, not a first one. Don't you think?"  
  
Actually it sounds like you are just trying to get under my skin, thought Harm. Maybe I better change the direction of this conversation.  
  
"Any ideas on how we are going to narrow the course of this investigation?" he said.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"The Eastern Shore is sleepy and quiet. Lots of little deserted bays to hide in," said Harm.   
  
"Yeah, but distance to a significant target is a factor. I really don't think this is where we are going to find what we are looking for," said Gibbs.  
  
Harm agreed with him. "What are we looking for?"  
  
"Something will jump out."  
  
"So what's next?"  
  
"Blackadder and Dinnozo have located a gentleman who might be of interest to us. He is being held on violations of his visa in Baltimore. They believe he might have some connection to this case. We are going to see if he wants to make a deal."  
  
"Do you have any background on him?"  
  
"They have emailed me a file. I'll print out a copy for you tonight."  
  
Harm watched as the pretty and very young waitress approached their table. She smiled broadly at Gibbs. Addressing him directly, she asked if she could get them something to eat. She was obviously flirting with him. Harm stole a sidelong glance at Gibbs. He was attractive, sort of, thought Harm.  
  
They continued to discuss the case over dinner bantering theories back and forth. 


	14. Chapter 14

The Spider and the Fly XIV  
  
She was in the standard position in the admiral's office. Mac smiled to herself. Well, it was almost the standard position, she thought as she looked across to the Commander's empty chair.  
  
She passed another file over the desk to the admiral. They were in the middle of some major personnel reallocation. The Iraqi conflict, her TAD to Paraguay, Harm's resignation had all put a crimp in the productivity of the office. It was her job as chief of staff to get this mess sorted out. The admiral wasn't cutting her any slack.  
  
"Last file sir. Dobson DDO goes to Mattoni. And then that's it," she said.  
  
The admiral grunted. "I'm never allowing JAG to get this far behind again. It will take weeks to dig out. Which brings me to the next topic. I have put in a request to have Gunny transferred back to JAG."  
  
"Galindez, sir? It might be a little quiet for him after all of the action he has seen lately."  
  
"Well actually I have heard through the grapevine that he might welcome the change. It would be good to have him back here. We could use the help," he said.  
  
Mac nodded. "I couldn't agree with you more, sir. When would he come?"  
  
"He is on leave in New Mexico. I've asked for his decision end of next week," the admiral said. He leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses and passed his hand over his bald head. Before Mac left, he wanted to ask one more question. He tried to appear nonchalant.  
  
"Have you heard from the Commander, Colonel?" The question was contrary to Chegwidden's policy not to pry into the personal lives of his staff. But he had misgivings about Harm's sojourn into the world of the CIA. A repeat of the events in Paraguay was something he wanted to avoid. He didn't need a second officer quitting to chase after a missing colleague.  
  
"Yes sir," she said. "Last night. He called me from Easton, Maryland."   
  
In almost complete contradiction to everything their relationship had been over the last seven years, Harm had called her every night since this op began. Mac was starting to realize that he was taking great pains not to worry her. The intense events in Paraguay had touched them both in strange ways.  
  
"The CIA sent him to the Eastern Shore?" The admiral relaxed slightly. He couldn't get into too much trouble this close to home. "What is he doing?"  
  
"I don't really know sir. But I do know that he is working with Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS," she said.  
  
"Our friend who tried to charge the commander with murder?" the admiral was incredulous. Who thought this up? "Are they managing to get along?"  
  
"Seems so sir. At least the commander hasn't complained too much yet," she said smiling.  
  
The admiral smiled back. "Is there anything more, Colonel?"  
  
"One more thing sir," she said. She paused a moment, and then asked. "Would you like to drive with me up to Baltimore after work today, admiral? To visit Clay."  
  
The admiral flicked his gaze up to her face. This was an odd request. Why is she asking this? She doesn't need a chaperone. Realization struck him and he quickly lowered his eyes. "Sure," he started slowly. "I haven't seen Clay for a week. Maybe Meredith will come and we can have dinner together in the Inner Harbor."  
  
Mac beamed. "Thank you admiral."  
  
#  
  
Gibbs sat at rectangular table in a small conference room in INS offices in Baltimore. A young Pakistani man, Mohammad Aziz, sat with his lawyer across the table. Harm was standing off to one side, leaning against a wall with his arms folded across his chest.  
  
SEVIS, the new INS database for tracking student visas had pinpointed this man for violating the terms of his F-1 visa. The F-1 gained notoriety after 9/11 when it was discovered that three of the terrorist hijackers were in the United States on student visas. They had used the lenient administration of this visa type by schools as a way to gain legal entry. SEVIS was created in response to tightening legislation.  
  
Aziz was now subject to deportation back to Pakistan. A sharp-eyed Dinozzo had recognized one of his sponsors, an uncle, as one of Saddiq's contacts in the US.  
  
They had been at this for several hours. And now it was obvious to Harm that this man was not a terrorist. Any association was unwittingly through family members. He watched as Aziz stumbled over his words in broken English. Harm believed his story that his mother wanted an American education for him and possibly a citizenship.   
  
But he had lived with his uncle for several weeks. And Gibbs was focused on that period in time.  
  
Harm found it hard to follow the track of his story. He jumped around from topic to topic talking about several men and places that they went. The only solid conclusion Harm came to was that their activities were centered on the bay south of Baltimore.   
  
Harm mentally started a list of possible targets. This was the focus they needed. Fort Meade was a large army base near Laurel, Maryland. The National Security Agency was located at Fort Meade. There was also the Naval Academy at Annapolis.   
  
Aziz implored Harm not to deport him. Harm glanced over to Gibbs. All he could assure the man was that no criminal charges would be laid. Deportation? Harm believed there was not much his lawyer could do for him.  
  
#  
  
Harm glanced at his watch as he walked with Gibbs towards the NCIS sedan. Good, he thought. It was only 3.30. There was more than enough time to do his next suggestion before dinner. And he wanted to avoid after dinner visiting hours at the hospital.  
  
Harm started to speak as he waited for Gibbs to unlock the car. "Clayton Webb is in the hospital at Johns Hopkins University," he said waving his hand in the general direction. "He spent a number of months working this case. He may have some insight into what we have discovered."  
  
Gibbs glanced at him as he bent down to enter the car. "I've read all of his reports on Paraguay but many things don't make it down on paper. You think he is up to a visit?"  
  
"That's what I hear," said Harm.  
  
#  
  
Gibbs was sitting at a table at Legal's Seafood on Pratt Street in Baltimore. Harm had left him again as he went to find a private place to make some phone calls. He sat alone at the table sipping some Yuengling.  
  
Interesting meeting with Clayton Webb, mused Gibbs. Clayton Webb was someone even Gibbs had heard about buried as he was inside NCIS. He was known as a first class operative whose rise inside the company was legendary. He was considered effective but somewhat of a rogue, often pushing the boundaries of acceptable practice. He had an atypical relationship with a few senior lawyers at Judge Advocate General's office. From what Gibbs knew, he believed that relationship stemmed from Rabb's life long quest to discover the whereabouts of his MIA father.  
  
From the minute that Gibbs stepped into Webb's private hospital room, he could see that the connection between the two men was deep and complex. It was an emotional meeting. It had been the first time they had connected since the brutal events in Paraguay. Webb was obviously thankful to Harm for the rescue but Gibbs sensed an additional undercurrent in the room. He puzzled at the source.  
  
Webb sifted through the results of their meeting with practiced ease. He talked more to Harm indicating to him what direction he thought they should pursue. Gibbs found his input invaluable. He saw why this man had the reputation that he did.  
  
Gibbs looked over to the windowed entrance. Harm was talking to three people on the street outside. He looked again. It was Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel Mackenzie and an unknown women. Ah, he thought, this could get interesting.  
  
4 


	15. Chapter 15

The Spider and the Fly XV  
  
Harm had hooked one arm around the top post of his chair. His legs were stretched out beyond the table and his body was turned slightly toward Meredith. The five of them were lingering over coffee.  
  
Admiral Chegwidden, Meredith Cavanaugh and Mac had met up with Harm outside of Legal's Seafood on Pratt Street as he was finishing a cell call. Up in Baltimore to visit Clay, they were looking for a restaurant for a quick dinner. Harm didn't want to admit to the quick rush of emotions he felt when they accepted his invitation to join Gibbs and himself. It didn't have anything to do with missing JAG.  
  
Even Gibbs had a smile on is face. Meredith was describing her first flight in Harm's Stearman. She knew she had scared the Tomcat pilot and her telling of the story was priceless. AJ blanched as she got to the part about the dive.  
  
"Rabb," he said menacingly.  
  
Harm grinned at him. "With all due respect sir, it was your idea I take her up in Sarah in the first place."  
  
"Never again," said AJ. Harm seconded the motion.  
  
Meredith turned to Mac. "I hear you have had your share of adventures with the commander when it comes to flying, Mac."  
  
"We are at three crashes and counting. I am still stiff and sore from the last one," said Mac and she smiled at Harm. It was always a treat for her to see him in civilian clothes. Tonight he looked particularly good stretched out in the chair in a pair of khakis and short sleeved collared shirt.   
  
"Two crashes and one unscheduled landing," he corrected. "Doesn't count as a crash when you can take off again. Remember?"  
  
"See what you have to look forward to?" she gestured to Gibbs. "Be glad you only get him for one case. He was my partner on and off for seven years."  
  
"I'll remember not to do any flying," said Gibbs. He watched the non-verbal interplay between Mac and Harm. He had caught Harm twice now, watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Man, he thought, he's got it bad.  
  
"Smart marine," said Mac.  
  
Chegwidden looked at Gibbs, "Another jarhead in out midst?"  
  
"Yes sir. Reserve. Gunnery Sergeant," said Gibbs. For some inexplicable reason, he felt that Chegwidden was sizing him up.  
  
"Why the shift to investigation?" said AJ.  
  
"I witnessed a murder when I was a child. The people involved with the investigation had an impact on me, I guess," said Gibbs. Why did he say that? He had been lured to open up more than usual by the friendly atmosphere around the table. It was mistake he rarely made.  
  
As Gibbs and the admiral talked, Mac turned to Harm.   
  
"You are still in one piece, I see," she teased him.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "This isn't Paraguay."  
  
"How is the investigation going?" she asked.  
  
"Slow, but interesting. I think we might have bit of breakthrough today."  
  
"Thanks for the phone messages. It is hard for me not to worry about this," she said. She was trying to be as open as she could. Did it help any?   
  
He glanced up at her as if he was trying to gauge the sincerity of her last sentence.  
  
Their conversation petered out and they just looked at one another. Nowhere in their history together did they have the words to connect as they wanted. And this wasn't the place or time. But Harm didn't want the link to break.   
  
Gibbs turned slightly and followed the line of the admiral's gaze. He was watching the interchange between the two lawyers. His face, almost expressionless, only confirmed to Gibbs that the JAG knew what was going on between Harm and Mac.  
  
Chegwidden cleared his throat. "We better leave, Colonel, if we are going to see Webb before visiting hours are over."  
  
#  
  
As they walked toward the car, Harm suddenly stopped. He turned to Gibbs and said, "Let me drive."  
  
Gibbs paused. They were finished for the day, right? He looked at the keys in his hand then tossed them over. "Okay. What's up?"  
  
"I want to take a side trip. Check out something. Are you in a hurry to get home?" said Harm.  
  
Gibbs smiled to himself. My personal life is probably about as exciting as yours Rabb, he thought. He devoted so much to his work at NCIS, he only could spare a bit of time for outside interests on occasion. No one was waiting for him at home. "Nope," he said keeping it short.  
  
Harm turned the car toward I95 as it wound it's way out of the city. But instead of continuing on toward Washington, he exited toward another interstate, I97. Gibbs realized they were headed toward Annapolis.  
  
But he turned off the interstate well before the exits into the state capital of Maryland. Gibbs tried to visualize in his head where he was. They were east and south of Baltimore but north of Annapolis. They must be traveling down the peninsula of land created by the two rivers, the Severn and Magothy.   
  
They had turned off the main highway and were now driving along a winding two-lane road. The Carolinian-type hardwood forest was dense, but Gibbs was certain they were close to the water. There was a mixture of houses here. The older homes were small and cottage like. Every so often, he would see larger, more expensive dwellings as affluent people took advantage of bayside property.   
  
They came to a driveway with a small poorly lit sign. 'Chandlers,' it read. Gibbs could see a low wooden building with a large screened-in porch. In front was a dockage with a series of wharves. Bay-style fishing boats were tied up and he could see stacks of crab traps. By the look of the parking lot full of cars, Chandlers was a dockside seafood restaurant. A successful one.  
  
Harm didn't turn off the motor of the car. He sat for a while looking around. "I wondered if this was still here. We used to come here when I went to the academy. Best seafood on the bay. Inexpensive too," he said pointing to the rows of picnic tables.  
  
Gibbs started to make the connection. "Aziz talked about his uncle always going to a place. He called it Candlers. You think this is it. Why here?"  
  
"I'll show you," and he reversed the car, they retraced their steps back towards the main road.  
  
Within 10 minutes, Harm had brought them to a monument perched higher than the surrounding geography. He pulled into a small parking lot and stopped the car. It was dark and they were alone. They got out and Harm led them to an open vantage point. Below them was the Severn River. Gibbs could see the twinkling chain of lights of the Naval Academy Bridge as it crossed the Severn and into the school. A full view of the Academy was before them, Bancroft Hall, Farragut Field, Dewey Field, the sailing center and the gold domed top of the Chapel. Back on their side of the river, there was Naval Station Annapolis. Off to the east, Gibbs could see the lights of the two spans of the massive Bay Bridge as Highway 50 made its seven-mile crossing of the Chesapeake Bay.  
  
Harm looked at Gibbs. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
Gibbs smiled wryly. "I'm not sure what to think yet. But why don't we stick around here for a couple of days?"  
  
They walked back to the car in silence.  
  
4 


	16. Chapter 16

The Spider and the Fly XVI  
  
"I thought you asked me all of your questions yesterday." said Webb.   
  
Clay was sitting up in bed reading the Washington Post. The white bandages on his hands that held the newspaper were a reminder of his ordeal. Surgery had repaired ligaments and tendons but the burns would leave a scar here and a few other locations on his battered body. Pain had been reduced by medication. Although regaining his health was going to be slow, Clay was grateful he was alive. He owed a lot to the man currently seating himself in a bedside chair.   
  
"I have a couple of new ideas. Plus I need to ask a favor," said Harm.  
  
"Where is your sidekick, Gibbs?" said Clay.  
  
"He is doing some background work at NCIS. We are meeting later in Annapolis."  
  
"Annapolis. Let me guess you have narrowed it to Annapolis. The academy, perhaps?"  
  
"Perhaps. Could be also the Bay Bridge. Let me go through my logic with you," said Harm and Clay listened intently to his arguments.   
  
After fifteen minutes of wrangling details back and forth. Clay shifted in the bed and stared out the window. "I see one fatal flaw in all of your logic, Harm. What we, excuse me, what you destroyed in Paraguay were stinger missiles. What is the primary function of a stinger missile? To shoot down aircraft. How effect would a stinger be on a bridge or a building. Not much."  
  
"Maybe they've shifted their target since Paraguay."  
  
"Just because a few missiles were destroyed? Wrong. Past experience has taught us that these operations are planned years in advance. When they buy stingers, they have something specific in mind for them."  
  
"Why then, would we have so much evidence that points to this area?" said Harm. Clay had a challenging mind. Good. He needed to clarify his thoughts.  
  
"I don't know. Have you looked at airports nearby? BWI is somewhere near there, isn't it? I believe stingers work up to 11,000 feet. An airplane making an approach to a runway would be lower than that. And what about Fort Meade?" said Clay.  
  
"Which brings me to the favor I wanted to ask. I need to get some information on these men. And I also want to know what the latest intelligence is on the whereabouts of Saddiq," said Harm handing Clay a white sheet of paper with three names on it.  
  
"Why don't you ask the CIA yourself?" Clay said. "You work there, don't you?"  
  
"By the time I got Gertrude satisfied with my security level, taken the background course on "Working in a secure environment" and jumped through all of the hoops they expect from a new person, it will be two months from now. I need this information now," said Harm.  
  
"And you think I can cut through the red tape. I'm touched Harm," smiled Clay. "Pass me the phone, will ya?"  
  
While Clay dialed his phone, Harm stood up and stretched his legs. Despite Clay's skepticism, Harm felt he was right. What was he failing to see here?  
  
Clay closed up the secured cell and spoke. "Okay, I've left those three names with an analyst. He will probably have the information you are looking for before end of this workday."  
  
"What about Saddiq?"  
  
"Interesting you should ask. He left Paraguay yesterday and latest intelligence has him landing today in Toronto."  
  
"Canada? That means he is going to slip into the US across the border."  
  
"Yeah. Hard to police a 5,500 mile border. For either side. And Canadian/US trade volume is larger than total US trade with entire European Union. That means there are lots of opportunities to hide. But that is not the only thing that worries me," said Clay.  
  
"This means the attack is imminent," Harm said soberly. "He wouldn't risk entering the US otherwise."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Both Clay and Harm were silent. Another thought occurred to Harm and he glanced quickly over to Clay. "How safe are you and Mac, with Saddiq in the US?"  
  
"Let's hope he is distracted by other activities," said Clay slowly. It wasn't a very comforting thought.  
  
"That little operation was not very covert by the end. It is likely he knows who and what you are, Clay," said Harm.   
  
"I'll put a call into Chegwidden to watch out for Mac," he said. "Harm? He probably knows who you are too."  
  
"I can take care of myself. Just make sure they keep Mac safe, okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Clay watched as Harm walked slowly towards the door. "Harm?"  
  
He turned and looked to look at Clay lying on the bed. "Yeah?"  
  
"Have you talked much with Mac since Paraguay?" said Clay.  
  
"A little. I've been busy. You?" said Harm turning once again towards the door.  
  
"She has been here to see me every night since she returned," said Clay. He watched as Harm waved wordlessly and left. As the door closed, he added a few words to himself. "...never alone. She always brings someone with her." Clay stared out the window, contemplating the state of his life and what had brought him to this point.  
  
3 


	17. Chapter 17

The Spider and the Fly XVII  
  
Naval Station Annapolis sits on Greenbury Point, shaped where the Severn River spills into the mighty Chesapeake. Directly across the mouth of Severn from the US Naval Academy, it is considered an ideal posting for 600 or so service members with its beautiful rural setting in the Broadneck Peninsula. Both the academy and the naval station have a close relationship with the local communities through sponsorship and other programs. When the Navy Times awarded this enclave 'Best Small Base of the Year' in 2001, it cited location and family-like civilian population in the honor.  
  
The Naval Station provides primary support for the more than 4000 midshipmen enrolled at the academy. It maintains the sail and power fleet of more than 250 watercraft. Repairing these boats are specialists in electronics, navigation, rigging, hull integrity and carpentry. The Sail Loft, the only one of its kind in the Navy, makes over 200 sails a year for the different sail craft at the academy including Navy 44s and dinghy's.  
  
The Naval Station is also responsible for small weapons training. During Plebe summer, all incoming midshipmen are trained on both the M16 service rifle and the M9 service pistol. USMC Annapolis Company located at the Naval Station provides security for the base and academy as well as administrative support for Marine Corps teaching staff and midshipmen who chose the Marine option.  
  
Harm was sitting, slouched forward at a small café table twirling the remnants of an ice tea at Tsunami Sushi Bar on West Street in Annapolis. He could hear a clock ticking in his head. Gibbs and he had spent a fruitless afternoon methodically checking out the Naval Station. Nothing on the base came to light to confirm or disprove Harm's theory. It was starting to look like they should pursue a new tack.  
  
Gibbs signed off his credit card receipt and stood up. "Let's go. Perhaps there is something new waiting for us when we get back to Washington." Gibbs felt a twinge of sympathy for the ex-commander. He too, in the past, had investigations only lead to a dead-end.   
  
As they walked down West Street towards the municipal parking lot, Gibbs commented, "Seems crowded here. Why are there so many people?"  
  
Harm looked around at the streets teaming with people and dismissed it. "It is Commissioning Week at the Academy."  
  
Gibbs considered this. "About one thousand midshipmen are graduating, right?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harm. "Somewhat less than one thousand by the fourth year. A lot of attrition goes on to get to this point. Big event for the city of Annapolis. Over fifteen thousand tourists come into the city for the week, mostly family and friends to join in the weeklong celebration. I bet there isn't a hotel room to be found right now." He watched as a young, white-uniformed midshipman walked by with an older couple.   
  
"You went through all of this didn't you?" Gibbs tried to imagine what Harm was like 17 odd years ago.  
  
"Yeah," said Harm briefly.  
  
"You like all of this pomp and ceremony?"  
  
Harm sighed. "Not really sure. All I know is that it was the culmination of four of the hardest but most rewarding years of my life. After Plebe summer, the first year? I was determined to quit. I hated it. Too many rules for me. Guess I was sort of a willful kid. But a sympathetic sponsoring family and some good friends talked me out of it. I stuck it out. And I'm glad I did."  
  
"I never had an opportunity like this," said Gibbs. "Almost failed out of high school, so I joined the marines. I still would put marine boot camp up against Plebe summer any day. It was hard."  
  
They walked in silence. Gibbs narrowed his eyes for a minute, thinking. "What else goes on during Commissioning Week?"  
  
"Well, it culminates in the graduation ceremony. I believe Donald Rumsfeld is the keynote speaker this year. Did you know that locals watch the ceremony and then wait for the middies to throw their covers in the air? They grab them. A middie's cover is somewhat of a prize."   
  
Harm stopped suddenly. He was looking at the model of a Blue Angels Fighter in the storefront window at Ben and Jerry's. A sign advertised ice cream cakes for graduating midshipmen.   
  
Gibbs stopped too, puzzled. "You want ice cream?"  
  
"No," said Harm. He turned to Gibbs. "I know the target for the stingers." He pointed to the model bedecked ice cream cake. "The Blue Angels perform every year at the final ceremony. What a coup that would be. To take down a couple of high performance fighters in front of the Secretary of Defense."  
  
#  
  
Mac looked up from the book she was reading. It was 2302 and she could hear a gentle tapping at her apartment door. She frowned and wondered if she should answer it. She reached into her bedside table and grabbed the box with her service pistol. She unlocked the box and loosened the weapon from it's padding. She walked toward the front door while placing the opened box on the hallway table. Just taking the proper precautions, she assured herself. I'm not paranoid.  
  
She peered through the peephole. Harm was standing on the other side. Relieved, she opened the door to let him in.  
  
"Hi," she said. "It is kind of late isn't it?" Actually it was good to seem him. Ever since she got the news earlier in the day that Saddiq could be in the US, she had felt uneasy. She smiled at him, trying to gauge his mood.  
  
"Just wanted to check on you before I called it a day. You heard about Saddiq?" said Harm walking past her into the room.  
  
"Yeah. Sobering news to say the least. This is what you are working on with the CIA, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Mac, you have to be careful. From everything that we have, we feel he will be operating around this area," said Harm.  
  
"I'll be careful. I'm a marine, right? I can take of myself. The admiral has tightened security and I'm in the courtroom all week. I'm not worried," said Mac.  
  
"Not worried, huh?" Harm spied the open gun case on the table.  
  
"Maybe a little. What about you? Could be after you too," said Mac.  
  
"I hope so. That would be one way to locate his whereabouts. Actually, I believe he probably will leave us all alone. If he is out to do what I think he is, he doesn't have a lot of time. His revenge will take a different form."  
  
"What do you think is going to happen, Harm?" she asked quietly. They sat together at the kitchen table.  
  
"This is supposed to be classified right?"  
  
"Harm, I passed 'the need to know' test when I put on that maternity suit for Clay. Tell me. What is going on?"  
  
He hesitated for a minute and then quickly relented. Brainstorming with Mac was never a negative thing. He sketched out the details of the case.   
  
"So that is what you think will happen. Have you located Saddiq or his three operatives in this area?" said Mac.  
  
"No, after Saddiq landed in Toronto, surveillance quickly lost track of him. He knew he was being watched. We are hoping he turns up soon. We have people watching suspected locations in this area, hoping he or one of them will turn up. We are also trying to track a case of stinger missiles sold to a member of this network in the Med. Tomorrow, Gibbs and I are meeting early with Academy security to go through what we know. Tomorrow is the practice performance for the Blue Angels over the academy. I want to watch that. It might give me a clue."  
  
"Would they cancel the Blue Angel's performance?" she said.  
  
"Not likely," he replied. "Not enough solid evidence and a disruption like that would only serve to play into the terrorist's hands. We just need to stop them."  
  
They continued to discuss the merits of this and that. Soon the conversation petered out and Harm rested his head on the top of the high backed kitchen chair. He knew he should go but for some reason he felt reluctant. He was worried about her despite all of the logic to the contrary. It was going to be hard to leave.  
  
Mac looked at him with his eyes closed. He looked tired. "Harm?" she asked. "Why don't you sleep here tonight? I have a spare bed." She motioned to the second door down the hall.  
  
He looked at her. She was sitting across from him wearing a light cotton flowered robe over a matching nightgown. He eyes flitted across her face taking in her intent expression. He tried to summon up a few reasons why he ought to refuse, but not one came to mind. He sighed once then said. "I need to get up early. I'm meeting Gibbs in Annapolis at 0700."  
  
"I'm an early bird too. I'll set my alarm for 0500. It will give me time for a good run before work. Okay?" She led him down the hall to the guest room. He raised his eyebrows at the frilly pink bedspread and curtains.  
  
"Whaaat? I keep this room for Chloe. She helped me decorate it," she said smiling.  
  
"Nice. It's just that I don't think of you as the frilly type." She walked past him through the doorway and Harm shut his eyes. Hold on there, he thought. I know what you are thinking, man. You have to stop. Didn't Clay tell you that she had visited him every day? He opened his eyes and took a deliberate step back. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.  
  
"Thanks Mac," he said as she threw a towel from the hall closet at him. "But I'll take a shower at my apartment in the morning." Take a shower in Mac's bathroom? That definitely would be a bad idea.   
  
She left him in the room and he could hear her walking about the apartment shutting off lights and locking the door.  
  
4 


	18. Chapter 18

The Spider and the Fly XVIII  
  
Mac rose at 5 am, pulled on some spandex shorts and a T-shirt, and then padded out to the kitchen to make coffee. No sign of Harm when the pot finished brewing some ten minutes later. Tapping lightly on the spare room door, she pushed it open. Harm was lying on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow. He was sound asleep.  
  
Mac took a furtive moment to admire him. His tall frame dwarfed the twin bed. Her eyes wandered over the outline of his curled body under the pink flowered comforter.   
  
She loved Harm. And it was a treat to watch him wake this morning. Since her watershed revelation to Sturgis over a year ago, confessions like that one came easier.   
  
She thought about their conversation last night. Assigning Harm, a newcomer to the CIA, to this high profile case was unusual. Kershaw had gone out on a limb. Mac could imagine the raised eyebrows inside of the CIA offices at Langley. But listening to Harm made her realize that time would prove the deputy director to be an astute judge of character. JAG or CIA, Harm was doing what Harm did best.   
  
He jumped slightly when she rested her hand on his shoulder to wake him. She pulled her hand back and smiled at him. "Harm? You need to get going, remember?"  
  
He rolled onto his back and rubbed his open palms down his face. "0500 already? Feels like I just fell asleep," he said, blinking.  
  
"Look alive, sailor. You have lots to do today," she said smiling at him. He was downright adorable in a rumpled T-shirt and boxers.  
  
  
  
Then he did it. He smiled at her. It was one of those smiles. She felt her heart flip. It had been a while since she had seen one. She tried to resist the draw of it for a brief moment. But her mouth widened and she grinned back. His eyes lit up. She felt a warmth rush through her.  
  
The moment passed and his eyes clouded over. He broke contact and rolled over into a sitting position.   
  
There was their elusive contact again. But something was new there. Was that a little tinge of hurt in his eyes as they clouded over? She sighed. It wasn't the first time she found Harm so hard to read.  
  
Giving Harm a little privacy, she returned to her bedroom to finish dressing for her run. Socks, shoes, water bottle, tissues, towel. Was that everything? Harm was standing by the entryway when she emerged.  
  
"Run at the gym," he said.  
  
She frowned slightly at the commanding tone.  
  
"Just till we catch Saddiq. It's safer than a deserted path in Rock Creek Park at 0530," he persisted.  
  
She looked at him and then relented. "Okay." Maybe it was a good thing to be cautious.  
  
#  
  
Mac settled into her office chair with a steaming cup of coffee. She had already turned on the bullpen lights and made the first pot of coffee for the day. This was early, even for her.  
  
She leaned back slightly in her chair, enjoying the solitude. She knew that within the hour, the offices and bullpen would come alive with people.   
  
Her eyes flitted over to Harm's darkened office. The walls and desktop were bare. Harm had removed his personal effects when he handed in his resignation. But even before that, the NCIS investigation had turned it upside down. How long had it been since she saw the office in its usual state? Must be almost six weeks now. What a depressing thought.  
  
Admiral Chegwidden had yet to assign the office to another officer. He too, was hoping that Harm would change his mind. But she knew he wouldn't wait much longer.  
  
Pulling her mind back to the present and her thoughts of Harm, she began to sort through the stack of papers on her desk.  
  
Her office phone rang. "Mackenzie," she said into the speakerphone.  
  
"Sarah? It's Clay," said his voice through the speaker.  
  
She grabbed the receiver and put it up to her ear. "Clay. You're up early! How are you doing?" she said.  
  
"Better. In fact, the doctors are releasing me today. Mother has arranged for some private care at home and I'm strong enough to go. So I'm going," said Webb.  
  
"That's wonderful, Clay. Really good news," she said.  
  
"I have a favor to ask."  
  
"Shoot," she said distracted, opening a file on her desk.   
  
"Could you come and pick me up when they release me?" he said casually.  
  
Mac stopped short and shut the file. Her mind raced around for an appropriate answer. Slowly she answered, "Sure, I think I can swing my schedule. What time would you need me to be there?"   
  
"Around 1 pm," he said.  
  
"One it is," she confirmed with false gaiety. She hung up the phone contemplating. Why did she feel so apprehensive?  
  
#  
  
It was a sunny, muggy Maryland afternoon. Harm parked his Lexus on the shoulder of Ritchie Highway and walked past the line of cars. The two-lane highway had dwindled to nothing more than a road through tall oak trees, bright pink azaleas and stately homes. It was packed with cars as far as he could see. Ahead he could see a clearing through the trees where the highway broke out to a height of land above the Severn River.   
  
Harm walked around the tall, circular grey State of Maryland World War II Monument that occupied the high bank directly across from the Naval Academy. This was a favorite spot for the residents of Arnold and Severna Park to watch the 45-minute practice demonstration of the Blue Angels during Commissioning Week at the Academy. Blankets were spread on the green grass, toddlers scooted about and teens tossed Frisbees. The atmosphere was up beat as people checked the horizon for the first glimpse of the fighters.  
  
Harm knew the Blue Angels made three appearances during Commissioning Week. There were two aerobatic performances, one practice and one actual, for graduates and visitors on Tuesday and Wednesday respectively. Their last appearance was the spectacular flyby for commencement on Friday. Harm believed Saddiq was targeting Friday's final ceremony.  
  
The six precision F/A-18 fighters used the Severn River as their backdrop to put on a show for not only invited guests but for the people on the low rooftops of historic Annapolis, along the tree-choked banks of the river and bobbing in the hundreds of white boats around its mouth. Harm smiled as a startled baby let out a loud cry. The roar of the jet engines shook the ground as the team powered by in tight formation. He looked up and saw blue jets, blue sky and sparkling blue water. He grinned. This was as good as it got.  
  
Only this day Harm knew he couldn't watch the aerobatic maneuvers of the team. He needed to use the vantage to get a feel for the performance. The stinger was a shoulder-launched weapon and a single person could load, aim and shoot. Its numerous appearances in film and newscasts meant that the shooter would need to be discrete. Harm scanned the area. Where would he launch an attack if he were Saddiq?  
  
Harm grabbed a pair of Nikon high-powered binoculars from a small pack. He started to methodically scan the crowds on the riverbanks when he heard his cell phone ring.  
  
#  
  
Mac pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She had elected to drive a Navy-issued sedan from the motor pool instead of her low-slung Corvette. As she watched Clay stiffly enter the passenger side, she knew the sedan was a wiser choice. Clay was still a long way from being normal.  
  
"Have you had lunch yet?" Clay asked.  
  
It had been a busy morning for her as she rearranged appointments. She had left JAG just before noon, not leaving anytime for a quick bite. "No," she told him.  
  
"I know a good restaurant in Annapolis," he said.  
  
She looked across the seat to him. "Annapolis?"  
  
Clay smiled. "Harm's investigation reminded me of how much I like that place."  
  
Her eyebrows rose. She didn't believe him.  
  
"Okay, I need to catch up with Harm. Regarding the investigation. He is there, isn't he?"  
  
Sick as he was, Clay needed to be part of the action. "You've been talking to Harm?" She thought Harm was avoiding Clay.  
  
"Sure," said Clay. "Any reason I shouldn't?"  
  
"Of course not," said Mac a bit quickly. "Are you up to a side trip to Annapolis? And lunch? Is this a good idea?"  
  
"Probably not, but let's go anyway. I need to get out," said Clay.  
  
Mac nodded. Good thing she had cleared her afternoon.   
  
#  
  
Mac and Webb sat in the afternoon sun on the outdoor patio at Carroll Creek Restaurant. They were overlooking a forest of sailboat masts, rigging clanging in the breeze. The restaurant was across Spa Creek from the Annapolis public docks situated on the main harbor known as Ego Alley. Millions of dollars of sail and powerboats tied to the local docks and marinas made the term 'Ego Alley' an apt one. Mac watched as cars backed up on a nearby road waiting for a small lift bridge. A procession of sail craft was motoring slowly through the elevated opening on their way past the crowded dockage to the open bay.  
  
Sipping an ice tea in the afternoon sun would be almost pleasant, thought Mac. If only she was wearing a summer dress and sandals instead of her uniform. If only there wasn't an awkward silence between Clay and herself.  
  
Clay looked nearly normal despite his pale color. His white cotton button-down shirt was loose and it covered both bruises and bandages. The marks on his face were starting to fade. Clay, like Harm, always managed to look pretty good.   
  
Clay was sitting back in the wood armchair, legs crossed, sunglasses on, looking out toward the horizon. They hadn't spoken much since leaving Baltimore.   
  
Suddenly he turned towards her, putting his hands and drink on the table. "Sarah," he said. "We need to talk about Paraguay."  
  
"Paraguay?" she parroted him somewhat inanely. This was the conversation she both wanted to avoid and wanted to happen. Her thoughts started to whirl faster.  
  
"Yes. About what happened to us in Paraguay."  
  
She almost said 'What happened to us?' but managed to stop herself. Instead, she looked at him mutely, not knowing what to say.  
  
"Those were extreme experiences, Sarah. That compound of Saddiq's was pretty bad. What he did to those missionaries... Your report states he shot them in front of you?" Webb was speaking quietly and watching her intently.  
  
Mac shivered slightly. These were memories that she had so far managed to bury.  
  
Webb continued. "I wasn't there for you through that. I wasn't there through most of it."  
  
"You kept them away from me until help came. I'm practically untouched today because of you," she said. "Clay, what you did for me..."  
  
"...wasn't enough," he said bitterly. "I was convinced we were going to die there, Sarah."  
  
"I had my doubts too, Clay," she said. "But Harm came."  
  
"He did, didn't he? He defied Chegwidden. He defied the CIA in Paraguay. And he came and he got us. I owe him my life," Clay said.  
  
"Me too," said Mac, not sure how to continue.  
  
"You love him, don't you?" he asked.  
  
Mac's eyes went wide. She started to mouth a denial. Instead she averted her eyes and said, "Yes." She couldn't look at Clay.  
  
"I told you he was oblivious, Sarah. But maybe I'm wrong. He did come to get you," Clay continued.  
  
"Us, Clay. He got us."  
  
"You," said Clay.   
  
He was silent for a while. Then he started again. "You never would have wondered how I felt, Sarah." Mac realized that Clay was speaking past tense. He continued, "I would have treated you well."  
  
They were both silent for a while. Then Mac started to speak. "I owe you so much Clay. If you ever need a friend..."   
  
But Clay wasn't listening. He was partially standing, looking out toward the busy harbor. Shading his eyes, he lifted his hand to point.  
  
Mac turned to see what he was looking at. On the water less than a fifty yards away, there was a long, thin cigar shaped power racing boat, slowly moving past the end of the city wharf. The boat contained three dark-haired men.   
  
Mac focused her attention on the driver in the right hand seat. She looked again. She turned to Clay. "Saddiq!" she said and immediately felt a cold chill. She grabbed her purse and turned to follow the boat along the shoreline.   
  
"Wait," said Clay wincing as he rose. He flipped open his cell and pressed a number on speed dial. "Rabb! Where the hell are you? Mac and I just spotted Saddiq on a boat just exiting Annapolis harbor. Get you ass over here!"   
  
#  
  
1 


	19. Chapter 19

The Spider and the Fly XIX  
  
Harm held the small cell phone to his ear with one hand. The other hand he placed over his other ear. He glanced skyward briefly. The Blue Angels were passing overhead. He absently catalogued the pass as a Farvel formation, observing the tight diamond grouping with the leader inverted.   
  
He was already walking up the grassy bank of the WWII monument park in the direction of his vehicle. As the noise of the jet engines passed he turned his attention to Clay's voice in his ear. He had heard scattered words. 'Mac and I'; 'Saddiq'; 'boat'; and 'Annapolis Harbor'. What the hell were Mac and Webb doing in Annapolis?  
  
He shouted into the cell, "Where are you? I'll be there in 15 minutes." His mind raced quickly forward. Wait, that wasn't right. The Naval Academy Bridge was closed for the air show. That meant backtracking toward the busier Highway 50 bridge over the Severn. Harm groaned. It would take at least half an hour through traffic to reach their location.   
  
He thought about Gibbs. He was somewhere on the Academy grounds watching the air show from a different vantage. He looked up again. The jets were now only small specs on the horizon. He could talk now.  
  
Lowering his voice, he continued. "Wait, Clay, I'm too far away. I'll call Gibbs. He's closer. Where are you?"  
  
Harm could hear the exasperation in Webb's voice. "Rabb, we're not in trouble here. We see Saddiq. He hasn't seen us. He is in a 40 to 50 foot, white speedboat cruising slowly out of the harbor with two other men. Mac is trying to follow him along the shoreline right now to get the registration number of the boat. Where exactly are you?"  
  
Harm watched the airborne specs on the horizon grow steadily larger. It was going to get hard to speak again soon. He quickly said. "I'm on the north shore of the Severn, near the Naval Station watching the air show."   
  
Harm brought up a map of the area in his mind. Any boat coming out of the anchorage at Annapolis would exit the harbor directly across from the Naval Station about two miles down river of his present location. If the boat was at the city wharf now, Harm estimated he had maybe ten minutes to catch it. The harbor would be clogged with traffic because of the air show. Saddiq couldn't open the throttle on his engines until he reached the Chesapeake.   
  
He heard Clay's voice. "Do you think you could intercept him from your location?" Webb had the same mental picture.  
  
"Probably," said Harm. He looked around for transportation.  
  
"With a boat?" said Clay.  
  
Harm shook his head. That probably wouldn't be an option. He spoke quickly into the phone. "No. But if I can get down river a bit, maybe I can see where he's headed. Clay, it's going to be hard to speak soon. Call Gibbs. Let him know what you saw. I'll do what I can. And keep Mac out of trouble." He flipped the cell closed and jammed it into his back pocket.  
  
He stood still for a minute. Going back to the Lexus would be useless. Police barricades and clogged roadways ruled out using his vehicle. It would just take too long. He looked down the grassy bank towards the shoreline. Beyond the edge of parkland, there was a police barricade blocking entry to the bridge at the stoplights. Further up the shoreline were North Severn Beach and the boundary of the Naval Station. For the performance, a marine sentry had been posted to prevent spectators from spilling over into the Naval Station. Harm could see the sentry's government issued vehicle parked on the road leading into the Naval Station. It was a stretch but maybe...  
  
Harm broke into a full run, dodging people in the loosely knit crowd. Soon he was on the roadway, leading down to the beach. He slowed down as he approached the alert marine.   
  
Twenty years in the military gave Harm insight on how to handle this. In a command voice that expected no other outcome he said, "Corporal, I'm Commander Rabb with the JAG corps out of Washington. I need to borrow your vehicle. Quickly." Harm hoped both God and Chegwidden would forgive him for twisting the facts.  
  
"Sir?" The marine narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Corporal, now! There is a terrorist escaping." Harm gestured down the shoreline and tried to illustrate the urgency. He grabbed his wallet and pulled out his expired military ID. The sentry peered at the document.  
  
Harm smiled as the guard handed over the keys with only slight hesitation.  
  
He was breathing heavily both from adrenaline and his half mile sprint. He slammed the car into reverse, turned and then drove up Beach Road toward the main docks of the Naval Station. He had a pretty clear idea of the layout of the base in his mind. He and Gibbs had just gone through it yesterday. It would be a quick trip towards the docks.  
  
As he drove, his mental map flashed again. Greenbury Point was a low marshy tip of land that jutted out into the Chesapeake. It marked the end of the river as it spilled into the big bay. Anyone standing on the point would have an expansive view of Chesapeake, as well as the mouth of the Severn and Annapolis Harbor.   
  
He glanced at his watch. He would need to backtrack a bit. He turned the car onto the deserted Greenbury Point Road. Although the vantage point was much better, he knew the remote location would give Saddiq more time to escape. He pressed down on the accelerator. He hoped he hadn't made a poor trade-off.  
  
It was a full fifteen minutes later when he finally stopped on an uninhabited stretch of road at the point. He grabbed his binoculars and ran towards the shoreline.   
  
There were literally hundreds of white boats spread across the mouth of the Severn River. Harm mentally reviewed the description Webb had given him. He moved the binoculars slowly across the bobbing shapes on the water. Overhead, there was silence. Harm wondered if the air show was over.  
  
He was getting nowhere with this. Needing more information, he reached into his back pocket and opened his cell.  
  
He continued to scan the water as he listened to the cell bleep out Webb's number. Webb answered on the third ring.  
  
"Clay, got anything more on that boat? There must be at least a hundred white boats out here," said Harm.  
  
"Rabb! Where are you?" said Webb.  
  
"See three tall radio towers on a stretch of low-lying, deserted land off in the distance? That's where I am. Where is Saddiq?"  
  
"Gibbs is standing on the breakwater at the Academy. He can see Saddiq, moving slowly, watching the last of the air show about 200 yards out," said Webb. "Mac and I are opposite Gibbs across the harbor in Eastport. Mac is up a ways watching the boat. Saddiq must be about a hundred yards from her."  
  
"What is Mac doing here, Webb?" Harm felt angry at the chain of events that had again put her so close to this madman. "And what are you doing out of the hospital?"  
  
"Relax, Rabb. I don't think Saddiq can see her. I was released from the hospital and she picked me up. I thought Annapolis might be an interesting place for lunch, especially since I needed to talk to you." Webb said. "Can you see the boat yet?"  
  
"No." Harm tried to triangulate the position from Webb's description. "Describe the boat again to me."  
  
"I was able to get a complete description of the boat from the registration number Mac got. It is a 40 foot PowerQuest Avenger with duo Mercruiser 500 hp engines. Long, white, slim boat with yellow and brown detailing on the side. You know, one those boats right out of Miami Vice. Top speed is over 70 mph."  
  
"Owner?"  
  
"The boat was purchased from a marina on Kent Island last week. Bogus name. Paid cash up front."  
  
"Any help from local authorities?"  
  
"I didn't try. There is nothing to arrest and hold them on. All we are going on is what we know from Paraguay. We could break this whole organization apart, if we get some real evidence. That has implications for not only this one but future attacks as well. Harm, if we just arrest with nothing and deport him, it won't solve anything."  
  
Harm didn't answer. No possibility of help from local harbor patrol or police was a little disquieting. He continued to scan the area trying to connect with the boat. He heard Webb speak again "Harm? Still there?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Found him yet?"  
  
Harm continued to look. Suddenly in the restricted view of his binoculars, he saw a powerboat that matched Webb's description. One, two, three dark-haired men. He briefly moved his view out from the binoculars' eyepiece and studied the harbor and the Academy. Yeah, the location seemed correct. This was the boat.  
  
"I've got them," said Harm. He watched as the boat's rumbling engines started to move it forward. It made a slow gentle arc as it gained momentum. It was turning away from the harbor and heading toward open water. Harm watched as it moved up and hit planning speed. "Webb, he's coming my way. I gotta go."  
  
"Later," Webb said and he hung up.  
  
#  
  
Mac made her way slowly down the maze of docks towards Webb's table at the restaurant. She glanced back toward the harbor, watching the small white spec that was Saddiq's boat. Despite the cloudless sky, there was a muggy haze on the water that seemed to swallow the boat as it receded in the distance.  
  
She sat down at the table. "What's happening?" From her own cell conversations with Clay, she knew he had been in touch with both Harm and Gibbs.  
  
"Well," he said slowly. "Harm's position is the best if we want to figure out where he's going. But if he heads out to the bay, we've lost him."  
  
"Saddiq really is planning an attack on the Blue Angels," said Mac.  
  
"I'd bet on it."  
  
Mac was silent. Clay looked at her, wondering what she was thinking. "Sarah?"  
  
She shook her head. "I can't believe he was this close and we didn't just take him out." She thought about Harm. "Do you think Harm could get into any trouble?"  
  
Clay scoffed at the idea. "Saddiq's on a boat. Harm can't even get close."  
  
#  
  
Harm fixed the binoculars on the image of the speeding boat. Judging direction on the featureless expanse of open water was often difficult, but Harm believed that the boat's tangent would take it close to the Broadneck Peninsula. As he followed the boat with his eyes around the leeside of the small point, he knew he was right. Saddiq wasn't heading out into the larger bay. He was pointing the powerboat toward the narrow inlet that bisected this large peninsula.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, thought Harm. He jogged over to the parked vehicle. Starting the engine, he turned the car onto a side road that followed the water. Harm set the pace of his car to match the moderate speed of the boat as it entered the small bay. The road was separated from the waterfront by a row of trees along the bank. The image of the white boat flashed in a strobe-like fashion as thick trunks passed in and out of view. Harm maintained a discrete distance.  
  
Occasionally the road deviated inland from its waterside path. But the boat's speed had decreased considerably and Harm was able to regain sight of the craft as the road turned once again toward the water.  
  
They had been traveling this way for about twenty minutes when Saddiq slowed the watercraft to a stop. The wake from the boat reverberated off the nearby bank, making the speedboat bob momentarily like a cork. Harm stopped his vehicle and climbed out. He crept toward the shoreline and hid behind two sycamore trees slumping into the water.  
  
They were speaking Farsi, he realized, or some other Middle Eastern dialect. Although he didn't understand what they were saying, he knew that they were looking for something along the side of the small inlet.  
  
Saddiq nudged the throttle to give the boat some forward momentum. Its slow progress meant that Harm could keep pace on foot. The path had dwindled to nothing and he dodged brush and climbed over fallen logs in his effort to keep up. Stopping often, he watched as Saddiq and his crew searched the shoreline.  
  
Harm crouched behind a mixed thicket of bushes blanketed by a spreading vine. Suddenly, he heard a shout and he looked to see a blue shirted man climb onto the long narrow bow of the boat and work his way forward. Saddiq turned the boat and nudged it towards the shore. Bowline in hand, the man in the blue shirt leaped onto a wet sand bar hauling the big boat with him. He quickly cast the line around the trunk of a tree and anchored the boat to the land. Saddiq and the third man scrambled off the boat and onto the sand bar.  
  
Harm lay back, hidden in the bush. He let out a long slow breath. He was less than ten yards from the terrorists. But because of the unusual sequence of events, he was empty handed. No sidearm. No nothing. His options looked pretty limited.  
  
They were walking now, traversing the bank on a formerly unseen path inland. Harm watched until they were almost out of sight and crept forward to follow. He concentrated on every step, stealthily moving ahead.  
  
They were approaching some sort of clearing. No, not a clearing but a large gravel parking lot. He looked across the lot and saw the low buildings of a restaurant and the sparkling water of the inlet beyond. It was 'Chandlers', the country seafood restaurant Harm had shown Gibbs just a few nights ago. The one mentioned by the immigration detainee in Baltimore.  
  
Saddiq and his companions did not approach the restaurant. Instead they kept to the periphery of the parking lot until they came to a small, isolated fishing shack. Wire crab traps were stacked neatly against the weather beaten building. Harm watched as they unlocked the door to the shack. Single file, they stepped through the opening. Harm could hear muffled voices. A short time later, two men exited the building carrying a long slender packing crate. It was a stinger missile.  
  
They set the missile down a few feet from the door, and then returned to the small shack. Harm tried to guess what they were going to do next. He thought about the boat hidden in the deserted bay. They were going to transport the stingers in the boat.  
  
There was only one way he could stop them. He glanced around. Saddiq was still in the shack. Harm started to move quietly through the thick brush towards the boat. A few more yards and he was safely out of sight. He ran down the small path. Reaching the sand bar, he pulled himself onto the moored boat. Moving aft, he searched the deck of the boat for the door to the engine compartment. Flipping open a fiberglass cover on the first engine, he bent down to look for the spark plugs. He fumbled trying to twist off the greasy silver plugs. The engine was still warm from recent use.   
  
He stopped, suddenly aware of voices, behind him, coming from the path. It was Saddiq returning to the boat with his two men. A quick glance and Harm saw they were carrying two long missile crates. There was no time to remove the next set of plugs from the second engine. He looked up again and he could see the three men stop. They had seen him.  
  
One man reached for a handgun tucked into the back of his pants. Harm crouched down trying to keep a low profile within the walls of the boat's hull. He was trapped. Harm looked around. There was only one avenue of escape. As he made a dive for the water, he could hear the angry ping of a bullet as it hit the white deck behind him.   
  
Harm dove deep as he could into the murky water, praying that there was no unseen hazard. As he moved past the boat he could feel the sharp blade of a propeller scrape roughly against his leg. Aaaahhhh. He quickly turned his mind away from the sharp pain. He couldn't concentrate on that now. Needing air, he came up against the boat, trying to keep the hull between himself and Saddiq's men.  
  
Ping! Another bullet hit the water near his head. He dove deep again swimming towards the tree choked bank downstream from the sandbar. He thought could hear the muffled bark of gun. He angled toward a slumping bank of partially fallen trees and deadfall. He kept his eyes on the blurry dark shape ahead hoping it would offer the protection he needed.  
  
Lungs bursting, he emerged behind the twisted trunk of a semi-submerged tree about twenty yards down the shoreline. All was quiet. He peered cautiously around his leafy cover and saw two men now standing in the boat peering into the depths of the water, guns drawn. Saddiq was bent over the exposed engine. He stood up and signaled them to get the crates left on the shore.  
  
Helplessly, Harm saw Saddiq sit in the driver's seat and turned the engine over. The undamaged motor sprang to life with a throaty rumble. Harm was still hidden in the brushy deadfall by the water's edge a few minutes later as Saddiq and his companions powered the boat out of the small bay.  
  
Harm waited until they were out of sight. He swam over towards the small sand bar and stood up in the waist deep water. The calf of his right leg was throbbing from the propeller cut. He watched as the remnants of the wake from the receding boat bounced off the shore. He swiped angrily at the water with the open palm of his hand. He'd been that close.  
  
4 


	20. Chapter 20

The Spider and the Fly XX  
  
From XIX  
  
Helplessly, Harm saw Saddiq sit in the driver's seat and turned the engine over. The undamaged motor sprang to life with a throaty rumble. Harm was still hidden in the brushy deadfall by the water's edge a few minutes later as Saddiq and his companions powered the boat out of the small bay.  
  
Harm waited until they were out of sight. He swam over towards the small sand bar and stood up in the waist deep water. The calf of his right leg was throbbing from the propeller cut. He watched as the remnants of the wake from the receding boat bounced off the shore. He swiped angrily at the water with the open palm of his hand. He'd been that close.  
  
Part XX  
  
Mac stood in front of a picture window overlooking the superintendent's elegant formal garden. A late blooming dogwood offset beautiful hedges of pink azaleas. She could see a flash of blue as a jay lit briefly on branch.  
  
She and Webb had driven the short distance across the small lift bridge on Spa Creek to the Naval Academy on the opposite side of Annapolis Harbor after the phone call with Harm. Gibbs was waiting for them at the formal residence of the Naval Academy's Superintendent. Perched on a small rise, the colonial-style building shared a quiet campus street with the imposing stone structure of the Navy Chapel. From the window, Mac could see tourists standing in a line, waiting to visit the crypt of John Paul Jones.  
  
Mac reluctantly turned and watched as Webb and Gibbs briefed the superintendent. The admiral was in dress whites and Mac wondered which commissioning week event they had interrupted. Whatever; she noticed that they had his full attention as Gibbs described the threat.  
  
"Morrow has alerted Homeland Security?" the admiral asked referring to the director of NCIS.   
  
"That is in progress as we speak, sir," said Gibbs.  
  
"Coast Guard?"  
  
"They have a description of the boat," Gibbs replied.  
  
As they continued to talk, Mac turned her back on the three men and went back to the view out the window. In an effort to contain her restlessness, she planted her feet firmly astride, and grasped her hands behind her. Her mind wandered to Harm. The relentless clock in her head reminded her that it had been exactly 93 minutes since his call. What was taking so long? A boat as fast as Saddiq's would have been out of sight of Harm's vantage point within minutes. He should have reported in by now.  
  
This was Annapolis, she reminded herself. Not Paraguay. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.   
  
#  
  
The water in the small, protected inlet had returned to its calm glassy state two minutes ago. Harm stood in the waist deep water, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. The adrenaline rush was over and he needed a new course of action.  
  
He pulled the wet cell phone from his pant pocket and flipped it open. He pushed fruitlessly at the power button but the electronics were fried. Harm knew it would be of little use. Now what?  
  
He could picture in his mind the exact location of the inlet. Several large creeks cut into the Broadneck Peninsula. Chandlers was on Mill Creek. The crooked bay was off of Mill Creek.   
  
Getting help from Chandler's Restaurant seemed like an obvious option. It was just a short walk up a wooded path. However, the proximity of the stinger's hiding place to the seafood restaurant set off warning bells. Harm wanted to leave the restaurant alone until investigators had a chance to check it out.  
  
But he also needed to find a phone fast. Saddiq and the Stinger missiles could cover a lot of ground in a boat with the horsepower of that one. Hell, even Norfolk was possible within a couple of hours. He needed to alert the authorities now. He thought back to the marine guard's car he had abandoned to pursue Saddiq on foot. It had a short wave radio.  
  
He waded out of the water. As he stood on the sand bar, dripping, he looked down at his right leg. Harm's stomach lurched at the sight of fresh blood oozing to the surface of the ragged wound. He bent down and wiped the pond muck from the ragged edges of his torn pant leg.   
  
He pulled his wet shirt from his body and peeled off the white undershirt beneath. Bending over, he tied the undershirt tightly around his leg over the wound. The wet fabric did little to absorb the blood but the pressure of the tourniquet would slow the flow. He straightened up, testing his weight. A stab of pain shot up his leg.   
  
Harm was grimfaced. Ignore it for now, he thought. He moved forward, shrugging on the open shirt. Retracing his steps through the heavy brush along the shoreline he soon found his abandoned vehicle.  
  
He needed to contact Gibbs, Mac or Webb, he thought as he radioed the base. He smiled to himself and asked the base operator to patch him through to the only cell number he knew by heart. Mac's.   
  
As he waited to be connected to Mac he started back toward the Naval Station. The wheels of the car crunched on the gravel of the back road as he drove forward. His injured leg trembled as he strained it to push down on the accelerator.   
  
He heard Mac's voice through the speaker of the radio. "Harm?"  
  
"Mac, Gibbs and Webb there?" he said and then released the button on the hand held mike.  
  
"They're right here. We're at the academy. Where are you? What happened to Saddiq?"  
  
"I followed him. From the shoreline. I was this close to getting him, Mac."  
  
"You're on shore. He's in a boat. How could you be close?" There was a note of suspicion in her voice. Harm smiled. He was still giving her nightmares. He knew it was perverse, but the thought that he worried her warmed him.   
  
"He stopped on a deserted stretch of shoreline. Mac, Saddiq has two stingers. I saw them put both missiles in the boat."  
  
There was a pause. Then, "Where's Saddiq now?"  
  
  
  
"Headed out to the bay."  
  
"Did he see you?" asked Mac.   
  
Important question, thought Harm. "Oh yeah. I was in his boat at the time. My sidearm would have come in handy at that point."  
  
There was even a longer pause. He knew the next question even before she asked it. "Harm, are you okay?"  
  
"Mostly," he said. Well, at least he didn't lie. He was mostly okay, except, well, a five-inch section on his right leg that hurt like a mother f-----.  
  
"Tell me where you are and I'll come and get you," she said.   
  
"I'm on my way to the admin building at the base. Meet me there," said Harm. Now that the air show was over, it would be a quick trip for them over the re-opened academy bridge from the school to the base. And he needed their help.  
  
He thought of something else. "Mac?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I assume Gibbs alerted the Coast Guard about that boat. Well, tell him about the two stingers. Last seen headed out toward the open Chesapeake from a deserted inlet off of Mill Creek," he said.  
  
He smiled again when he heard her reply. "Will do, Butch. You just make it to the Admin Building, okay?"  
  
#  
  
Mac and Webb entered the private hospital room where Harm was being treated. He was lying on the bed, his head propped up on a pillow. Mac's gaze first went to the heavily bandaged lower leg and then flittered across to the intravenous tubing stuck in his forearm and then finally stopped at his face. He was in the middle of a quiet, intense conversation with Gibbs, who had arrived before them. Harm had been transported to a local hospital for treatment by the base medic.  
  
As he looked up, she could see the exhaustion behind his eyes.   
  
She walked over to the bed and laid a soft hand on his arm. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll be released when this IV finishes."  
  
"IV?"  
  
"Antibiotics," he said. "The doctor wasn't too impressed with my swim in the Chesapeake."  
  
"Your leg?" she asked.  
  
He shrugged "Stitches. Through the calf muscle. I guess I won't be in the Marine Corps Marathon next week."  
  
"Wimp," she said and she squeezed his arm. "And the Marine Corps Marathon isn't till October, squid."  
  
Gibbs coughed once, interrupting. "I just got a call from Morrow. We're meeting 7 am tomorrow with people from Homeland Defense, the FBI terrorist response team and Coast Guard at the administration office at the Academy. They're planning an all out response for the Blue Angel's air show at 2 pm.   
  
Mac looked at Harm. "How are you getting home?"  
  
Gibbs paused for a minute. "Seems like we have two invalids here. Webb, why don't I drive you home? Mac, you take Harm."  
  
The switch around of partners seemed like an odd suggestion coming from Gibbs. Mac looked at him in surprise. She found he was watching her with an unreadable expression. She felt the hint of a blush cross her face.  
  
"Sure," she said. Something about Gibbs...  
  
#  
  
Harm adjusted his position on the two crutches, hopping slightly on his left leg, trying to balance himself on the uneven ground. He heaved a sigh as he watched Mac slowly unlock his abandoned Lexus and move the passenger seat back to accommodate his legs. It was dark and the busy roadway where he had parked his vehicle earlier was now deserted. He could see Gibb's red taillights receding in the distance. It had been only seven hours since the start of air show but it felt like twice that to Harm. A lot had happened.  
  
Mac gave no indication she felt his impatience. With an expressionless face, she stepped back from the seat, bowed slightly, gestured in a sweeping motion and said, "Your seat, Mr. Rabb."  
  
"Mr. Rabb? What, no flyboy, squid, Navy etc.?" he said wincing as he sat down.  
  
"You quit the Navy." She helped him tuck his injured leg under the dash and waited to shut the door. "Remember? I have been thinking about nicknames. How does spyboy sound?"  
  
She shut the door and walked around to the driver's side and got in. She started the SUV and pulled away from the edge of the road.   
  
"Sounds more like a nickname between you and Webb." he said. There was an edge to the words, more than he intended.  
  
She didn't answer and continued to drive.   
  
Harm lay back and rested as they turned onto Route 50. His eyes were not quite shut as he studied Mac. Her cover was off but the rest of her uniform was completely squared away despite the rigors of a long day. She was so beautiful. His eyes ran down the tight fitting uniform, and with a twinge of guilt, he let his mind conjure an image of her breasts hidden by the marine drab color.   
  
She looked pensive, lost in her own thoughts. Harm wondered what she was thinking as she drove along.  
  
The day's events started to replay in his head. Maybe it was Mac's proximity but his mind started to dwell on Mac's lunch with Webb. A dockside table on a sunny day seemed like more than a strictly business lunch to him. Mac said there was a simple explanation. She had picked Webb up at the hospital and Webb needed to talk to him. Annapolis was a logical choice.   
  
So why did it feel like someone was rubbing his face in it? Why were his hackles rising?  
  
Seeing Mac and Webb together, no matter how innocent, was gnawing his heart. He thought by quitting JAG he would avoid this. Stupid, stupid. He realized that the reverse might actually be true. The CIA was no guarantee that he wouldn't see them. And today was a case in point.  
  
Clay had been a sophisticated and attentive lover to numerous women. Over the years, Harm had seen him with many. It didn't take much to conjure up an image of Webb as he gently placed his hand on the small of his companion's back or draped his arm around her waist. Then he would bend over to whisper something in her ear. The woman would turn slightly to look into his eyes and smile.  
  
The scene played clearly in his head. Only now Mac replaced the endless parade of Webb's faceless lovers.  
  
He was starting to feel like King Arthur of the Round Table. He was watching Guinevere and Lancelot. The woman he loved and his close friend. And in the present era, Harm was now faced with the eternal Arthurian question. If he truly loved her enough, he would want her to be happy. Together with the man she loved. Without him.  
  
The hell he would.  
  
He must have groaned out loud because from the darkness of the car, he heard Mac's voice, "Harm, you okay?"  
  
He started slightly but quickly regained his composure. "Tired and cramped." He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulder slightly towards her.   
  
There was silence again in the vehicle. After a while, Mac spoke again.  
  
"The old SecNav was at the Homeland Security Council Meeting. In some sort of official capacity. I can't remember what. So was Admiral Chegwidden. They raised the national terrorism threat level to orange," said Mac.  
  
Harm grunted. "So I heard."  
  
"I guess Nelson told the admiral that they better get used to doing this, if Rabb was now involved with the CIA." Mac smiled. "Chegwidden laughed. I don't think Nelson meant it as a compliment."  
  
Harm smiled in spite of his present mood. Nelson never did like him much. "I'm sure it wasn't."  
  
More silence, then, "Harm?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are you going to participate in tomorrow's operation at the Naval Academy?" Mac turned her head slightly to glance at him quickly.  
  
Harm guessed she already knew that answer. He looked over and grinned. "Of course. Why not?"  
  
She put on her best school ma'am look. "Maybe the fact that you have, oh I don't know, how many stitches in your leg and you can barely stand."   
  
"I'll be okay," he said.  
  
"Well then, I'll see you in the morning then," she said.  
  
He was surprised. Mac was coming? "You have no official capacity in this," he said.  
  
"I do now. The NCIS director phoned the admiral and asked for me. My experiences in Paraguay and the fact I speak Farsi helped. "  
  
I'll just bet it did, thought Harm. And maybe someone should give some consideration to the fact that when I found you, that madman had you strapped to a table and his henchman was about to apply glowing electrodes. What was Chegwidden thinking?  
  
On reflex he said, "You've got to get out of this, Mac. I'm sure you could refuse."  
  
"It's not your job to tell me what to do, Harm. I'll be okay," she said in a warning voice.  
  
"You weren't okay in Paraguay," he continued. That was a stupid thing to say. Especially with Mac. He knew the situation in Paraguay wasn't her fault. But he couldn't stop the rising tide of panic he felt when he thought of her involved with this.   
  
But instead of getting angry, Mac said quietly. "It's my job, Harm. Just like this is your job. I'm afraid of this guy too. But maybe the way to conquer that fear is to get him, once and for all."  
  
Harm lay back and shut his eyes. He knew she was right. They had to get this guy. But he had given up so much to go to Paraguay. And he had done it all to get away from Saddiq and her out of danger. And now she was willingly putting herself back into risk. It was hard to accept.  
  
He suddenly felt very tired.  
  
  
  
  
  
8 


	21. Chapter 21

The Spider and the Fly XXI  
  
For the many people involved with "Operation Middie," Wednesday started well before dawn. The name "Operation Middie" had been coined the night before. It referred to the domestic terrorist threat aimed at the Blue Angels' air show at the Naval Academy during Commissioning Week. Analysts, operatives and more from the FBI, NCIS, the Coast Guard and Homeland Security had been quickly coordinated to deal with the impending menace. The CIA and the National Security Agency stood in the background, ready to be tapped for intelligence support. The speedy organization of this operation was an impressive feat.  
  
Mac tried to unobtrusively stretch her muscles. She was no stranger to long hours and demanding work but she couldn't help but feel a little tired. She dropped Harm off at his apartment just before eleven the night before. Gibbs called early this morning to give her details of her day's assignment. Early? It was more than just early. Oh four hundred was the middle of the night. Even for Mac.  
  
It was only mid morning but already she felt like she had put in a workday. The last two hours with Gibbs' team going over communication protocols and surveillance guidelines for "Operation Middie," had been tedious to say the least.  
  
She was now standing on the weathered boards of the pier at the Naval Station with Gibbs. The sky was clear and the sun danced off the blue water. The panorama of Annapolis Harbor was in front of her. She could see the wood dome of the State Capitol Building perched on a hill behind the Academy.   
  
Thirty yards offshore and moving slowly towards them in a boat, was Harm and Webb. Their boat was one of several selected for 'Operation Middie. Mac didn't know much about boats, but this one was fast. Chosen to beat Saddiq's speedboat in a race at full throttle.  
  
She studied Harm has he concentrated on piloting the large boat toward the dock. He was perched high on a white leather and chrome seat, one hand draped over the wheel and the other on the throttle. Bareheaded, he had a pair of red Oakley 'Scar' sunglasses hiding his eyes. A white T-shirt accentuated his long, tanned arms. Partially concealed by the dash, she caught a glimpse of yellow board shorts hugging his slim hips. Mac grinned to herself. Where was the Naval Academy graduate? This was more like an ex-Californian out for some fun in the sun.  
  
Clay, on the other hand, looked like he was ready for early lunch at the Annapolis Yacht Club. Lounging on the passenger seat, he was wearing a collared golf shirt also in white, navy blue mid length shorts and a pair of deck shoes. No socks were his only concession to the informality of the setting.   
  
She looked up and saw Gibbs was grinning at the men in the boat too. The carefree atmosphere to this summer day in Annapolis was infectious. If she weren't careful, it would be easy to forget the reason they were here.   
  
Gibbs reached over and grabbed the line from the bow of the boat as it gently kissed the pier. He held fast as Harm cut the engines.   
  
Harm leaned against the seat back and looked up at them. "Now what?" he asked Gibbs.  
  
"We are headed to the public dock," he said simply. He was a man of few words. The Annapolis City Dock was across the bay next to the Academy.   
  
Gibbs jumped down into the boat and reached out his hand to help Mac in. He was in khaki shorts, running shoes and a worn baseball hat. Understated was the word that came to mind when it came to Gibbs. She let her gaze run over him as she stepped over the sideboard. Tall, strong, good looking. Wow, she thought. Gibbs' eyes are almost as blue as Harm's. For a brief second, she felt a little weak kneed under his stare.   
  
If only Chloe could see her now. This muscle boat had more horsepower than her Corvette. And riding around with these three men wasn't hard to take either. Chloe would be squealing. Mac tried hard to keep her face expressionless. She ran her hands down her low-cut shorts smoothing out the fabric. Thank goodness she took a few extra minutes to shave her legs this morning.  
  
She sat down on the rear seat and when she glanced up toward the front, Harm turned to look at her. Making eye contact, he shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes. He had caught her ogling Gibbs. She suppressed a smile.   
  
Maybe it would be best to divert Harm toward a different line of thought.   
  
"How's your leg?" she asked. This was the first time she had seen him today.  
  
He paused, hand poised on the key to turn on the engines. "I don't know. I thought maybe I'd ask you. You seem to be the one checking out legs here," he said, smirking. He twisted his hand and the boat jumped to life. They started to pull away from the dock.  
  
She felt heat creep across her face. "Nice shorts," she countered, shouting over the noise of the motors. He glanced down at the yellow shorts and slipped off the seat to give her a better view, switching hands on the wheel as he turned slightly. His cocky, aviator attitude was out in full force today. She tried to drum up her usual indignation at his manner and failed. His attitude was catching.  
  
"You like 'em?" he shouted back.   
  
"I like them so much I think you should wear them to Chegwidden's next party."  
  
"Maybe I will," he said.  
  
Instead of replying, she just waved him off and he returned his attention to the boat. They picked up speed. She shook her hair in the wind. Feeling the warmth of the sun, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She hoped the trip across the harbor didn't end too soon.  
  
#  
  
Webb stood and watched as Gibbs helped Harm onto the crowded city dock from the boat. Mac handed him a cane. The crutches from the hospital had been ditched for the walking stick Webb remembered from Harm's crash two years earlier. Mac hovered next to his elbow, ready to give a hand if needed.  
  
Webb felt a little impatient at the lack of information from laconic Gibbs. He didn't want to start playing twenty questions with the man. But at least he could fill them in on what was happening next.  
  
As if he could read Webb's thoughts, Gibbs started to speak, "That's the Annapolis Harbor Master's office," he said pointing to a three-storied building in the middle of the busy quay. "The top floor offers a 360 degree view of the harbor. It's an ideal place to monitor boat traffic coming in and out of the many marinas at Eastport and Spa Creek. It's a prime location for our purposes."  
  
"You're putting a team there," said Mac.  
  
"Yes," he said.  
  
"Hope you briefed the team well," said Webb. "Saddiq has a long 'known associates' list."  
  
"No need to brief them," said Gibbs. "The people I have in mind already have past personal experience with Saddiq and his people in Paraguay."  
  
Webb turned to Gibbs in surprise. "Who is that? No one knew much about him before I landed in Paraguay six months ago."  
  
Instead of replying, Gibbs just looked at Webb. Suddenly, understanding came him. "You want me up there?" Webb said, gesturing toward the building.  
  
"Yup," said Gibbs monosyllabically.   
  
Harm chimed in. "Clay, it's a good idea. It will keep you out of trouble, considering your, ahh, circumstances,"   
  
Rabb was all for ditching him. "It's a good place for Mac, too," he heard Harm continue. The man was trying to protect Mac again. Well, if he were going to be stuck there, Webb knew he would enjoy Mac as a partner.  
  
Gibbs shook his head. "Not Mac. You," he said pointing to Harm.  
  
Harm looked incredulous. "Me?"  
  
"Yup. That leg is a handicap. And I can use Mac's language skills. She knows Saddiq too. I want her out on the water," said Gibbs.  
  
The look of consternation on Harm's face was comical. Webb almost laughed. But when he thought about a long afternoon watching boats through binoculars cooped up with Rabb, his smile faded. Not his idea of exciting participation in "Operation Middie." And from the look on Rabb's face, he felt the same.  
  
Gibbs continued. "The top room is equipped with radio headsets, telescopes, binoculars and intelligence reports. Everything you need." Gibbs took the boat keys from Harm. "Good luck."  
  
"Gee thanks, Gibbs," said Webb.  
  
#  
  
"Jeezus, Rabb, quit pacing," said Webb. Harm's limping hop step was starting to be annoying. He put down his binoculars on the counter and glared at him. "You're driving me crazy." They were well into hour three of their watch. From the activity on their headsets, Operation Middie had turned up nothing. It was disheartening.   
  
"The air show is almost over, Webb. That's the last stunt. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing," said Harm, showing his frustration.  
  
"Nothing is going to happen today. Saddiq's hiding. He's targeting the flyby on Friday and he's laying low today. He's not stupid," said Webb, resuming his scrutiny of the boat traffic. He gave a low whistle. "Just look at this one," pointing to an outbound cabin cruiser.  
  
Harm snatched up his binoculars quickly and stared out the window. Webb smiled when he heard him say, "Quit watching the blondes in the thongs, Webb."  
  
"These binoculars are so good I can think I can read the writing on her tattoo," Webb continued, squinting as he looked through the lenses.  
  
Harm ignored him. He went back to pacing.   
  
"Lighten up, Rabb." Harm had always been a stiff. He sighed. He wondered how much longer till they could abandon this post.  
  
Webb continued to scan the boats. He methodically moved from boat to boat. He focused on every occupant, pausing to identify. He mentally flipped through the faces of Saddiq's associates in his mind. Nothing.  
  
"Clay?" He heard Harm's voice off to one side.  
  
"Yeah?" he said, not pausing to take his eyes off small sailboat entering his view.  
  
"Why is Hardy here? I didn't think the Company trusted him."  
  
"Hardy? Can't be. He's still in Paraguay as far as I know," said Webb, coming out from behind the binoculars to look at Harm. "Why?"  
  
"Hardy's here, walking down the board walk," said Harm pointing. Webb didn't need binoculars to see the CIA's Paraguayan operative striding purposefully only 30 yards away. Harm paused then spoke again, "Webb, you don't know everything. Maybe they brought him in on this."  
  
Webb knew that Harm was wrong. "Never. He is under suspicion for treason. This is the last thing they want him involved with."   
  
They continued to watch him in silence. Harm started again. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"That means then..." Harm was hesitant to say it.  
  
"... he's here with Saddiq," spat out Webb. "Bastard." His mind lurched forward as it changed gears. "We have to follow him."  
  
Webb looked at Harm. He took in the cane and the white-bandaged leg. Without saying a word, he whirled around and ran for the stair well. Rabb would have to fend for himself. He couldn't wait for him.  
  
Hardy! Webb couldn't believe that he was here in Annapolis. Hardy had often been a focus of his thoughts since he woke in his hospital bed in Baltimore. Downtime was useful in that way. It gave you hour upon hour to rehash details about old ops. Helped to build some perspective. In this case, the more he thought about Hardy, the more he was convinced the man had a hand in the series of tragic events that engulfed Sarah and himself. The events that had nearly killed him.  
  
Was Hardy working for Saddiq? Oh yeah, thought Webb. He thought about his abuse of drugs and alcohol. And every time Hardy drank, the conversation eventually turned to the Company. How they had screwed him. What they had done to him.   
  
But even if he was working for Saddiq - what was he doing here? Webb's mind whirled around for a while, seeking answers to that question. What use would Hardy be to the terrorist in the US?   
  
Hardy's main advantage to Saddiq was his in-depth knowledge of the CIA and how it worked. What it did.   
  
In fact, the reverse was also true. Under normal circumstances, Hardy's knowledge of this terrorist's organization would be invaluable to the Company. They would most certainly utilize him in "Operation Middie." He would be an asset.  
  
Hardy would be an asset all right, thought Webb as he burst out the front door of the Harbor Master's building. Saddiq would find the details of "Operation Middie" to be of great assistance.   
  
Webb squinted in the bright sun light. Where had Hardy gone? He scanned the crowd. At the far end of the pier, he saw him. He was about to cross from the pier onto Main Street. Webb could see his slight figure at intermittent intervals through the throng of people. He started to memorize his clothing, mentally filing away details for future reference.  
  
Had the Company brought Hardy to Annapolis? No. Webb was certain of that. In debriefing with the DDCI, Webb had fully disclosed his doubts about Hardy. The DDCI was in agreement. He was dangerous.  
  
For security purposes, that information had gone no further than the DDCI's office. This meant it would be easy for Hardy to blend into "Operation Middie." He was known in the intelligence community. Knew the protocols. How to act. The only one who would suspect that he was a traitor would be Webb. And he was half dead in Johns Hopkins, right?  
  
Wrong, thought Webb. He was starting to breathe heavily as he ran along the boardwalk toward Main Street. Shit. He could feel the weeks of inactivity catch up to him. Not what his doctor had in mind when he said to take it easy.  
  
He started to slow his pace. He had almost caught up to Hardy and he needed to keep a discrete distance. It was a simple task to blend into the background of this busy commercial street. Sidewalks teamed with tourists meandering along, looking in store windows. Main Street climbed a hill up from the waterfront to the area known as State Circle. In the center of State Circle was Maryland's historic State House where Washington resigned his commission from the Continental Army. Hardy continued his deliberate pace up the hill towards State Circle.  
  
Webb stopped suddenly and slipped into an alcove provided by a storefront. Hardy had also stopped and was looking to cross the street, scanning up and down. Webb saw him cross then walk into an alley. The sign at the entry of the alley said 'Municipal Parkade'.  
  
Shit, thought Webb. He is going for his car. Now what? He stepped out toward the street, ready to follow him. At least I can get the make, model and tags, he thought.  
  
As he was half across the Main Street when he heard a voice behind him. "Need a lift?"  
  
It was Harm. In a dark blue sedan marked Annapolis Harbor Master.  
  
"About time you showed up," said Webb as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Nice car."  
  
Harm ignored him. "Where to?"  
  
Webb pointed to the alley with the Parkade. "Hardy just went in there. Going for his car. We can pick him up as he comes out."  
  
TBC  
  
7 


End file.
